


Six Different Lullabies

by MyBlueBooks



Series: Jane and Sherlock Holmes [3]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Cancer, F/M, Homosexuality, Lots of children, Major character death - Freeform, Marriage, Mentions of drugs, Parentlock, Pregnancy, Sexual Content, Smoking, Temper Tantrums, Unplanned Pregnancy, War
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-29
Updated: 2014-01-07
Packaged: 2018-01-06 13:51:19
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 93,520
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1107616
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MyBlueBooks/pseuds/MyBlueBooks
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Third part of 'Us Against the World' and 'Finding You Again'. Jane and Sherlock Holmes are parents of six and nothing is easy because none of their children have come to the world with a textbook. Plus, all the children had inherited the stubbornness of their father. Sort of AU. Parentlock! Fem!John.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Big Family

**Author's Note:**

> Not an English speaker. Apologies in advance for all my mistakes. Thanks for reading!

_They are very different._

_They are five different smiles, five different laughter, five different ages, five different kisses, five different mischiefs, five different crying, five different minds, faces, hearts and souls._

_But they are their five children._

* * *

If asked, Hamish would say his very first memory, or at least what he feels as his most vivid memory, he would say he remembers his third birthday party very well. People say that as kids we don't usually remember much but vague scenes, images, certain smells and colours. However, Hamish remembered that day as if it had been yesterday because that was his first birthday party with his daddy Sherlock.

What Lock remembered the most was using a proper cup for the first time in his life. He was four and both of his parents, Jane and Sherlock, said he was far too old to use a bottle. Lock remembered that every kid in nursery had a cup and he had a bottle. The teacher said he was far too old to use one. His little friends laughed and he cried. And that same afternoon he asked his Mummy Jane for milk in a cup. It surprised him how good it was to drink using a cup and not a bottle any more.

Sophia, opposite to his older brothers, she could perfectly remember the day the twins were born. It was raining and Daddy Sherlock had to call Uncle Mycroft to look after them whilst he took Mummy Jane to hospital. Sophia, only being a three year old girl, knew that if her Daddy was calling Uncle Mycroft, then something a lot not good was going on. Jane was sitting on her chair and her hands were on her baby bump. She was caressing her belly doing circular movements with her fingertips. Tears were rolling down her face and she was begging the twins to stop moving because it hurt.

It amazed Hamish, Lock and Sophie to look at their Mummy's belly and see two pair of feet moving under her skin. All the children put their hands on her belly and felt the twins moving and moving. But the more they moved the more Jane cried and the more she cried the more nervous Sherlock was. The detective moved to and fro, looking for the bags with Jane's clothes and the twins'.

Uncle Mycroft took the children to a place they had never been to before. It was a rare place where people ate all the same food and there was a brilliant golden 'M' at the entrance. Their uncle muttered something about the quality of the coffee of the place and let them get into a room with all sorts of games. However, Uncle Mycroft said they couldn't eat there because apparently Daddy Sherlock would kill him. Instead, their uncle took them to a restaurant where a man took their coats when they got inside and instead of drinking using plastic cups they had the kind of glasses their Mummy Jane put on the table when she said she and Daddy Sherlock were celebrating being married one more year. When Sophie burped after eating her lunch, without even meaning to, she earned a distasteful look coming from her Uncle Mycroft. Then, a man who spoke very funny approached their table and Uncle Mycroft spoke funny too, making his already funny nose look funnier than ever. And before they could even ask for any kind of dessert, their Daddy Sherlock called saying the twins were born.

Sophie remembered being in his Uncle Mycroft's arms when she saw her Daddy Sherlock holding two little babies, one in each arm. Lock said they were two boys because he deduced it long time ago but Hamish said their Mummy had already said the twins were two boys and that he didn't deduced it like Daddy Sherlock because it was rather obvious since the little babies were wrapped in matching blue clothes and each had a matching blue hat they had seen Grandma Lizzie knitting a few weeks ago.

The tree children had different memories of that day, but Hamish, Lock and Sophia remembered the look in their Daddy Sherlock's face when he told them the babies he was holding were their brothers.

"He's Benedict," Sherlock said, looking down to the baby he was holding in his left arm. "And he's David," he said, looking at the other baby in his right arm. "They are your brothers."

They were identical and Grandma and Grandpa Holmes were there together barely holding their tears. Grandpa Greg was there too and some other doctors who were friends of their Mummy.

Both looked so similar!

The babies had pale skin, but very pink cheeks and full lips. Grandma and Grandpa Holmes said the babies had the Holmes' facial features, but they had slightly reddish hair which resembled their uncle Mycroft's somehow. It was still too early to see if they had curly hair like Sherlock of straight hair like Jane. Both babies had their eyes closed and were deeply asleep in their father's arms.

"And Mummy?" Sophie asked.

Sherlock smiled to his little daughter and sat with her once he handed the babies to their grandparents. "Jane's sleeping now."

"I want to see Mummy."

"You can't, Princess. She's very, _very_ tired _._ " the detective explained with what looked a bit like a sad face.

No one else besides him and Jane needed to know that this time she couldn't get pregnant again. She had a c-section and the doctors discovered her uterus was far too much damaged even though she was a young woman of twenty seven. But this was her fourth pregnancy, her first one had complications and in the third one she lost the baby so now the doctors advised her and Sherlock not to have more babies.

"The babies look the same!"

Sherlock smiled to his six-year-old son Lock. "That's because they are identical twins."

When asked how they would tell them apart, Sherlock said he would always know which baby was Benedict and which baby was David.

Because a father always knows.

Now, if you asked the twins what was the first thing they remembered, they would say they remember being closely together for a long time and that everything around them was warm and soft. They could remember voices talking to them and that the place where they were was too tight to kick and move their limbs freely, even though their Mummy Jane smiled every time she told them they kicked far too much, specially during the hours before coming to the world.

Benedict said he remembered a strong light blinding his eyes.

And David said he remembered Benedict crying.

* * *

 

"Mummy?"

Jane looked up and met her son's blue eyes. "Yes, Benedict?"

"I'm David."

"You're Benedict."

"I'm David," repeated the five-year-old boy wearing a pair of blue jeans and a green jumper. "I'm _David_ , Mummy!"

Jane smiled. "What's wrong, _Benedict_?"

The boy smiled playfully. "How you know it's me?"

"I'm your mother. I can tell between you and your brother," Jane said as she continued preparing dinner. "I thought you were watching that thing with your father and your brothers."

The boy sat on a chair and folded his arms over the table where he supported his face. "It's a bees documentary."

"Oh. You don't like it?"

"I watched it yesterday."

"What's wrong, Ben?" Jane asked worriedly, turning to see her husband sitting in the middle of the sofa with Sophie snuggling up to him on his left side, David on the right side and Hamish and Lock sitting on the floor. All of them were quiet focused on the documentary about bees.

The boy pouted. "I'm _bored._ "

"Do you want to help me cooking?"

"OK."

A few years after Mrs Hudson died and before the twins were born Jane and Sherlock decided to rebuild the building entirely. As Sherlock bought the property to Mrs Hudson's sister so now they were free to do as they pleased. They decided to change the whole structure of the building. Now 221 C worked as a storage of old furniture, the twins' cot and so on. Mrs Hudson's flat was changed into Jane's office, where she had her books, a desk and where she could study and work calmly. But when the twins were old enough to sleep alone in a room and not in a cot any more, Jane and Sherlock decided to move downstairs so their old room would be the twins' now. Upstairs they built another room for Sophie as well.

So now downstairs Jane had her own office, Sherlock his little lab and their room. Upstairs was the living room, the kitchen, the twins' room and in the third floor Hamish and Lock's room and Sophie's.

After dinner Jane served tea and David dropped his plastic mug, staining his blue jumper and his jeans.

And his Mummy's favourite tablecloth.

"I'm sorry, Mummy," the five-year-old boy said with tears in his blue eyes. "I'm so sorry."

Jane smiled and helped him to change his clothes. "It's OK."

"But it was your favourite tablecloth. And I ruined my clothes too."

"I can wash them later. Don't cry, sweetheart."

Benedict and David were identical twins and therefore they shared lots (the same) physical features. Both were about the same height, both had wild dark slightly reddish curls, blue eyes, pale skin, full lips and the same nose. Physically speaking, both had the Holmes facial features and the curly hair. But both had very different personalities. Benedict was born first and he was far more reckless, stubborn, brave and very impulsive. He liked to run to and fro along their Grandparents Holmes' wide garden and he liked sports. On the other hand, David, who was born two minutes after Benedict, was careful, fearful, considerate and sometimes he cried far too much, which worried Jane and Sherlock to no end.

If Benedict had been the one who dropped the mug with tea he would have never said 'sorry'. But David cried and begged for forgiveness no matter how much Jane assured him everything was OK.

"Time to go to bed." Sherlock said turning the telly off, his eyes on his eldest son.

Hamish was fourteen, almost fifteen, and he was going through a phase of going to bed late. Only to regret it in the morning. As a teenager he was far more calm than others. He did his homework, studied very hard and got good grades. The teenager was good in Maths and Biology. So far Hamish wanted to be a doctor like his mother. Hamish was also very healthy and he liked football. It was hard to believe he had had suck a fragile health as child. The developmental delay was far less obvious now but Hamish struggled a bit with some subjects at school and had to study harder than his friends to keep up with them, but he was fine.

"Just ten more minutes?"

Sherlock shook his head. "Bed - now."

"You're turning into an old man," Hamish joked, adjusting his hearing aid. "Sending me to bed early with the babies."

"First, you've got classes tomorrow. Second, your mother says it's not good for your health to stay up until late," the detective glanced at his watch. "And third, I'm not old."

"Still an old man."

Sherlock smiled just little. "Brat."

Lock and Sophie were another story. Lock was a ten year old boy who was good at sports and whose main dream was to travel all around the world and observe the bees of another countries and study them. The boy had a thing for bees and he was fascinated by them to the point he insisted so much that for his next birthday Jane and Sherlock were getting him a small hive to be placed at their country house. Now the boy preferred to be called 'Lock', 'Sherlock' when his parents found out about his mischiefs, but never 'Locky' because he said he wasn't a little boy any more. Lock was very close to Hamish, whom he considered was the best big brother of the world.

However, Sophie was different. She was the only girl and sometimes having all brothers and not a single sister was a big advantage because she was Daddy Sherlock's favourite girl. Maybe because she was the only one. Though neither Jane nor Sherlock had preferences over their five children, Sophie knew she was Sherlock's weakness, his main and only weakness maybe. But Sophie was now eight and Sherlock didn't know if he should treat her like a small girl or like the eight-year-old she was now. Sophie liked to wear her long brown wavy hair lose and never on a pony tail. She said she wanted to be an actress, win awards and be very famous. When asked, she would say her Daddy Sherlock was her hero and that she loved him lots because he was the best daddy in the world.

"Daddy?"

"Yes, Princess?"

Sophie bit her lower lip and batted her eyelashes. "I don't want you to pick me up from school tomorrow. I want Mummy to go."

"I'm working, darling," Jane said, washing the dishes. "But why you don't want your father to pick you up?"

"Because the other mummies are all over him! And they are noisy!"

Sherlock smiled. "Ah, that."

Jane turned. "All over him?"

"Yes. Jessica said she heard her mummy saying daddy was _'soooo hot',_ " Sophie said. "And it's _my_ daddy. I don't want to share him with them."

"Me neither." Jane laughed.

"Go to sleep, Sophie," Sherlock said patting her back softly. "You've got school tomorrow."

Sophie kissed him again. "Promise me you won't let the other mummies take you away from me."

"I promise you I won't. I love your mother far too much to do that."

"Night, Daddy. Night, Mummy."

Sherlock smiled fondly to the little girl wearing bright pink pyjamas. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Sophie's eyes lit up. She ran to Sherlock and wrapped her arms around his neck. "I love you Daddy."

The detective felt her sloppy lips on his cheek. "I love you too, Princess."

Once the entire house was silent because all their five children were in their beds sleeping, Jane and Sherlock would go downstairs to their room.

The detective sat on his bed and watched Jane putting on her nightdress, brushing her sandy hair and putting lotion on her arms, legs and on her face because she said she didn't want to have wrinkles. This made the detective smile because she was young - too young and they had lived _so_ much that sometimes they thought they were old. But they were thirty-two and thirty-three and they already had a teenage son, one who was close to be a one and three other children who were still little.

If asked, Sherlock would say he never imagined having this life and all the ingredients of it: a wife and a five children. If asked, Sherlock would say he imagined being alone, probably only working and doing little else about his life. The thing is, that this domesticity and this kind of life was everything he wanted. If asked, he would change nothing he did in the past - nothing. Because, somehow, the drugs, Moriarty, his fake death and his absence of three years had given him five children. And the detective was sure that, somehow, his present wouldn't be the same if he changed his past.

Once she was in bed, Jane liked to run a hand over Sherlock's curls and spot some grey hairs mixed in between his dark locks. Every time Jane mentioned she had found a new grey hair, Sherlock ignored it. But Jane knew Sherlock cared and she knew her husband kept track of those grey hairs. There were also two thin lines on Sherlock's forehead and around his eyes. Sherlock said nothing about them. But Jane loved them.

If asked, Jane would say she had what she always dreamt of: a husband and lots of children. Though it wasn't always easy to handle a life when you are a mother of five (one teenager, two big children and two little twins), the wife of certain consulting detective who likes to teach his children Biology by bringing eyeballs and toes from the mortuary, a doctor who sometimes worked far too long shifts and a person (all in that order), Jane loved her children, her husband, her life and everything she had.

If asked, both Jane and Sherlock would say they are happy because after all, after _all_ the things they had to go through, they were a family, they were parents, they were friends, they were lovers and they were two people in love.

They lay in each other's arms, staring at the darkness of the night, feeling complete in each other's presences and in each other's arms.

"All over you?" Jane asked playfully. "Really?"

Sherlock caressed her sandy hair. "Are you jealous?"

"Of course."

The detective kissed her very softly and smiled. "I love you."

"I love you."


	2. Love In Sickness and In Health

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 14
> 
> Lock - 10
> 
> Sophie - 7
> 
> Benedict and David - 4

None of their children have come to the world with a textbook. No one teaches you how to be a _good_ parent and Jane and Sherlock were certain you don't become one when you have your child and when you are holding it in your arms for the first time in your life. Many people say that experience makes you a parent and not the simple fact of having a child. Jane and Sherlock became parents when their children were happy, when they were sad, when they were upset, when they were healthy and when they were ill. Practice, experience, lots of hours with their children, many hours without sleeping looking after them - that's what made them parents.

Parents of _five_ children!

Many people thought they would never manage having five children. When Hamish stopped using nappies Locky was born. When Locky stopped using nappies Sophie joined the family. When Sophie stopped using nappies the twins were born. So for many years Sherlock developed a technique that allowed him to recognise and know which brand or kind of nappies were better, which was the formula he had to buy and which sizes his children were when going back home after a case, he would pop in any shop and get something for his babies. There was a new compartment within Sherlock's magnificent brain in which he collected and kept all the data involving his children. But every once in a while he would forget to get the milk.

Obviously.

But contrary to popular belief, Jane and Sherlock managed pretty well. Elizabeth, Sherlock's mother, suggested they should get a nanny or at least someone who could help them with the children or the house. Neither Jane nor Sherlock needed or even wanted a strange looking after their children if they could do it themselves. They were practical. But having children meant they had to find a way to make things work. And finding a way to make things work meant Sherlock had to take less and less cases and Jane had to stop working every now and then. The money wasn't a problem, Sherlock was insanely rich. But having less and less cases meant having less material to make Sherlock's magnificent brain work.

Since the moment Jane and the twins were allowed to leave hospital and go home things changed. Jane had experience: she knew what to do when a baby of just a few days old cried. She could change nappies and prepare bottles so easily. She knew how to hold a baby to make him fall sleep. She knew how to give them a bath. But Sherlock had to learn everything because he had not been present when Hamish was born because of the drugs and when Locky was born he was 'dead'. Sophie joined their family later, when she was already a year old when Sherlock and Jane adopted her. Sherlock had joined all their first three children's lives when they already went to the loo alone, when they could drink their milk without using a bottle, when they could explain why they were crying and so on.

So now with the twins Sherlock learnt what was to stay up all night long when your little baby couldn't sleep. But now he didn't have just a baby. He had _twins_. And when one cried the other one immediately followed. When David cried, Benedict would follow. When Benedict cried, David would peacefully keep on sleeping. When Jane fed David, Benedict cried. When Jane fed Benedict, David would calmly lie in his Daddy Sherlock's arms. Sherlock loved this, see how different their babies were - David was far more calm and Benedict would cry a sea of tears. David seemed to prefer Jane's arms. Benedict seemed to prefer Sherlock's arms.

When they cried in the middle of the night Sherlock walked to the cot and tried to help before Jane woke up. The detective felt as if he could do nothing but change nappies and hold one of the babies while Jane fed the other. Sherlock always sat next to Jane and watched her while she was breastfeeding. He had read women usually need that support. However, even though he had read enough books and tried to help as much as he could, Sherlock couldn't prevent the postnatal depression.

It started four weeks or so after giving birth. Jane didn't sleep at night and she sat next to the cot and watched the twins sleeping, making herself sure they were breathing by placing her index finger close to their noses. Sherlock knew she feared they might die of sudden death. Years ago Jane had lost a baby, Sebastian Moran's baby, and since then she had been a bit paranoid - even more when she knew she was , as she had given birth to twins, she obviously gained weight during the pregnancy so immediately after she stopped eating normally. No matter how much Sherlock insisted, she preferred not to eat.

Now Jane couldn't even go out because she said she was far too fat, that her clothes didn't fit any more and that she was tired. She was sad, she cried all day long and there were episodes in which she couldn't stand it when both babies cried at the same time. But Jane, and Sherlock who was her husband, weren't the only ones who suffered from this because the children also saw their mummy unhappy. Sophie once cried because she stumbled and fell to the floor and when she ran to Jane, who was the closest, Jane started screaming she had had enough and that she couldn't it any more.

And no one knew what was happening.

The mood swings led Sherlock to earn his own dose. One night six weeks after the twins were born once all their children were in bed, and sleeping, Jane kissed him and when everything was leading to a night of love and passion, Sherlock got a slap when he rejected Jane. She slapped him and said something about she was fat and that he didn't love her any more. Sherlock said he was really tired. Jane didn't believe him and almost kicked him out of the flat.

Sherlock slept on the sofa that night.

And it took Jane one more week until she realised she needed to get help.

She felt helpless and unable to take care of her own babies, when two months after giving birth, she had no milk on her breasts.

When Jane told Sherlock about it she begged him not to leave her. When Sherlock asked why he would leave her Jane said because she was not a good mother. When Sherlock heard that he kissed Jane and finally made love to her. And after making love for the first time in several months, after a long talk and after Sherlock assured Jane he would never leave her because she couldn't produce more milk for the babies, Jane agreed to get help.

People say the first step to recovery is admitting you have a problem.

A few months of therapy helped Jane and then she was happy again. Not like it occurred after the first session with a therapist, but it was a gradual process. The twins were older now and they cried less, so she could sleep more and Sherlock started to help even more. Jane started going to the gym and in a couple of months she lost all the weight she had gained during pregnancy. She knew the stretching marks would always be there in her skin, but now all her clothes fit and she was happier. Sherlock never complained about her body. Not as if she had gained lots of weight after the twins, but Jane said she wanted her body back.

"You're so beautiful," Sherlock whispered to her ear one night when she joined him to bed and he turned to find her completely naked under the covers. "So sexy."

Jane smiled. "I've the world's best husband, Sherlock. Has anyone else told you that?"

"Technically speaking you're my only wife," Sherlock said. "No one else has told me so."

She giggled. "I love you. Has anyone else told you so?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

"Hamish, Lock, Sophie -"

Jane pressed a finger to his lips. "Shut up and kiss me."

* * *

 

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Jane asked, pressing her hand to David's forehead. "You're a bit feverish."

"David's tummy hurts, Mummy!" Benedict said.

"Does it?"

David nodded. "Yes."

Jane smiled. "Then you're staying home today, Poppet. Mummy and Doctor's orders."

Benedict frowned. "My tummy hurts too."

It was not difficult to know when they were lying. Benedict was the master of mischief and he could put on quite a show when he wanted. David, on the other hand, was always the calm twin, telling his brother Benedict what he was doing was a lot not good and that their mummy and daddy would be quite angry. Benedict always said he didn't do it. And when Jane or Sherlock looked at David, the boy had the truth written all over his face.

And it was very funny to see them like that.

Jane smiled. "You're OK, come on, get up, time to go to nursery."

"But -" Benedict frowned. "It's not fair that David can stay!"

"He's ill."

Benedict pouted. "Then I'm ill too! We're twins!"

Benedict didn't like to go to nursery. David loved it.

David cried when he was ill, when there had been an accident involving some drink and Jane's tablecloth, when Benedict was upset, when he was afraid and when he thought that he was the one to blame after his twin brother's mischiefs. Benedict barely cried, unless he was in pain or when Hamish and Lock locked themselves in their room to play video-games or when they went to the park to play some football and didn't take him with them.

David was closer to Jane. Benedict was closer to Sherlock. But both loved their parents with all their hearts.

"Can I go, Mummy? Please," David said between tears. "I don't want to stay."

"Why?"

David buried his face in his mummy's chest. "Cos Daddy's on a case and you have to go to work."

"And?"

"I don't want to ruin your day."

Oh, David.

"You'll never ruin my day," Jane said, pressing a kiss to his forehead. "Your father will take your brothers and Sophie to school and you and I will stay here. I'll cook your favourite and we'll watch any film you want."

Benedict was angry. "That's not fair!"

Sometimes it was hard to please both twins. Specially when both were so different.

"Your brother's ill, Ben -"

"It's not fair! It's not fair! It's not fair!" Benedict said, jumping on his bed. "When Mish or Lock or Sophie or David are ill you take care of them and you never take care of me!"

Jane sighed. "Because you're never ill!"

David started crying again.

"IT'S NOT FAIR!"

Then Sherlock came in, mobile pressed to his ear. A good case apparently. "Shut up!"

"It's not fair, Dad!"

"Get dressed, wash your teeth and have breakfast. I'm leaving with your brothers in twenty minutes and thirteen seconds," Sherlock said firmly, looking at his watch. "And if you're not ready by that time I'll take you to Mycroft's office. I'm sure he has some world domination plan you can help with."

It was amazing to see Benedict getting dressed, washing his teeth and having breakfast so quickly only to avoid his Uncle Mycroft's presence.

* * *

"Mummy?"

"Yes, David?"

"This is me or Ben?" the four-year-old boy said, pointing at a picture taken the day he and his twin brother were born.

It was their first picture. Both were sleeping in the same cot. They were lying on their sides and both were holding hands.

Both were very little when they were born since Jane's uterus was too small and they were two babies. And even though they were very little, Benedict was bigger than David. Benedict was born first and he cried far more than his brother. It was a premonition of what was to come in the future: Benedict was the king of mischiefs and David was all the opposite.

"This is you," Jane said, pointing at the baby on the left side. "You were little than your brother."

Instead of watching a film, David said he wanted to look at pictures. Jane showed him pictures of when he and his twin brother Benedict were born. There were lots of pictures of them as babies, there were some pictures of them with Sherlock, with Jane, with both, with their brothers Hamish and Locky and with their sister Sophia. And there were some old pictures too.

"This is Daddy?" David asked curiously, pointing at a picture of Jane and Sherlock, as two mere teenagers, sitting together at her old garden.

Jane smiled. "Yes."

"And this is you?"

"Yes. We were..." Jane looked at the picture again. "We were sixteen."

Jane told his little son lots of stories of her and her husband when they were teenagers. Most of those stories involved Sherlock's experiments with Mycroft's most expensive shirts and their days at school.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, sweetheart?"

"You always loved Daddy?"

Jane couldn't help but smile. "Yes. Always."

"But you said he was your friend."

"He still is," she ran a hand through David's black reddish curls. "I always loved him. It just took me some time to realise what I really felt for him."

David looked at his Mummy lovingly. "Daddy said he loves you."

"Did he?"

"Yes," David said with a smile. "I love you too, Mummy."

Sometimes every word David said made Jane want to cry. Her youngest was so sweet, so tender and so nice. All her children were the same, all of them were good and sweet, but David was different. Sherlock once told Jane that David was, maybe because he was the youngest, the sweetest one. He was far more close to Jane and he was so apologetic, so tender, so small.

"I love you too, David."

The topic of love arose again once the children were back from school. Apparently Sherlock managed to crack the case within two hours, so now the whole family was having lunch all together but Hamish who was staying at his best friend Marty's.

"Mummy, look," Sophie said, giving Jane a little note. "Joe gave me this."

Jane opened the note and giggled. She couldn't help but smile.

"What is it?" Sherlock asked.

Lock rolled his grey eyes. "She wouldn't stop talking about that."

"Oh Sophie." Jane smiled fondly to her daughter.

Sherlock frowned. "What is it?" he repeated.

"Joe asked me if I wanted to be his girlfriend," Sophie said carelessly, eating her lunch, not meeting his father's eyes.

"And what did you say?"

Sophie looked at his mummy and rolled her brown eyes. "That I can't be his girlfriend."

"Why?" Jane asked.

Locky laughed. "Because Dad will kill him?"

Jane giggled.

Sherlock said nothing.

Both twins giggled too.

Sophie looked at her mummy. "Obviously. And I don't want to be his girlfriend."

"Why?" Jane asked.

" _Why?_ " Sherlock repeated. "She's seven! She's just a _child_ and I won't let it happen. You don't have my permission," the detective said, his eyes on Sophie. "You're far too young to be engaged in any kind of romantic relationship."

Jane patted Sherlock's arm. "I was joking. She's seven, Sherlock -"

"Exactly," Sophie agreed, batting her eyelashes. "And I love my Daddy. I don't want to have boyfriends."

Sherlock was Sophie's hero. And Jane knew what her daughter felt for her daddy. It was the same thing she felt for hers when their parents divorced, her father left to Iraq and she couldn't see him as much as she wanted to. Sophie loved Sherlock far too much to the point sometimes both adults were worried.

Sherlock nodded.

"I want to marry Daddy," Sophie said, putting her fork down. "Daddy, would you marry me?"

Locky laughed. "That's gross!"

"Daddy, look! Lock's laughing!"

"You can't marry Dad." Lock said.

"Why?"

Lock looked at her. "Are you serious? He's your father. Children can't marry their parents and vice versa."

"But Daddy's not my real dad," Sophie said. "I know I'm adopted."

Jane laughed a bit. "You can't marry him because he's already taken. He's my husband."

Sophie folded her arms. "You're _mean_."

Sophie was being serious.

There were little tears in her eyes when she ran to Sherlock and threw her arms around his neck. "I love you, Daddy!"

That afternoon, Sherlock told Sophie about the day he got married to Jane and showed her pictures of that day. Sophie said her mummy looked beautiful and she also asked if they danced and had a party like the weddings she had seen on films. Sherlock explained Sophie that even though he wasn't her real father, her biological father, he couldn't marry her. When Sophie asked if it was because she was little, Sherlock told her it was because he loved her as a daughter and not as a wife. When Sophie said she would make him very very very happy, Sherlock said he already was and that she was already making him very happy.

"You're my only daughter and I love you," Sherlock said, caressing her long wavy brownish hair softly. "You don't need to marry me to make me happy."

"Do I make you happy, Daddy?"

The detective nodded. "Yes."

"How?"

"By eating your vegetables, being a good girl to your mother and to me, doing your homework and being very clever," Sherlock said. "also by being a good sister to all your brothers and by just being you."

Sophie buried her face into his chest and kissed his cheek. "Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you. I wish you were my real daddy."

It broke Sherlock's heart.

Jane was sitting across them and she couldn't help but cry a bit. Both loved Sophie so much that they wished she had been their real daughter. Sometimes blood was important. But in cases like this one, blood wasn't that important. Papers weren't that important. The love they felt was important.

"It doesn't matter if you're not my biological child," Sherlock whispered. "You're my daughter and I love you."

* * *

 

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you seen Mum's book about bones?" Hamish asked, taking two steps back to have a better look of Jane's bookcase. "I texted her and she said it was here. I need it to do my homework."

Sherlock, still working on his microscope pointed at the pile of books close to the table.

Hamish sat on the floor of their parents' room downstairs and went through the pile of books. He found the one he was looking for and came across, accidentally, to one that had a leather cover and her mother's handwriting.

The fourteen-year-old boy chuckled when he found a picture of a very young Jane and Sherlock. His mother was wearing a blue dress and her hair was longer. Next to her was Sherlock, wearing a black suit.

They looked so young.

"Found anything interesting?"

Hamish laughed. "Quite," he held the photo high so Sherlock could see it. "How old were you?"

Sherlock left his microscope and walked to where Hamish was sitting on the floor. He took the picture and smiled just a bit. The detective remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. It was the prom party and he asked Jane to go with him.

"Sixteen."

Hamish placed the photo back to the book where he had found it and got to his feet. "Found it," he said, holding the book he was originally looking for and patted his father's back. "Lock looks a lot like you."

Sherlock panicked just slightly.

But didn't let his son see it.

"What?"

"That Lock looks a lot like you in that picture," Hamish explained. "I look more like Mum."

Sherlock smiled just a bit. "What are the brats doing?"

"Lock's practising with the violin, Sophie's checking her spelling with the dictionary before you check on her homework and the twins are napping."

Hamish was leaving when Sherlock decided to go upstairs and check on his children. They were all old enough to spend the afternoon alone by themselves, all doing their homework, the twins either playing together or napping, or maybe watching telly or playing video games Sherlock never approved of with their older brothers and so on. Since Jane was at the hospital working and there were no cases on the horizon, Sherlock preferred to continue with his experimentation, develop new ways of getting clues in crimes scenes and so on.

Initially he said he needed the work.

But inwardly Sherlock just knew his children needed to be by themselves - Hamish was already a fourteen-year-old teenager capable of doing his own homework first and then find anything else to distract himself, such as any video game, a book, a film, some stupid telly show and so on. Lock was a responsible child as well, so Sherlock knew that immediately after homework the child would occupy himself with his violin lessons, telly, his books about bees and more. Sophie, as his older brothers, knew she had to do her homework and then she could play or do whatever she wanted. Opposite her brothers, she preferred to watch films because she said she wanted to be an actress so she needed to know how actors 'worked'. The twins were little and they went to nursery, so straight after lunch Sherlock would put them to bed so they would nap and later they woke up for tea or milk and more games.

When Sherlock got to the living room he found his ten-year-old composing.

"Composing? That's Vivaldi. Different -"

Lock looked at the bow and turned to his father. "Can't think of something better," he said, cutting him off. "I'm _bored_."

"Dad," Sophie called him from the kitchen, where she was sitting on the table. "Can you check my spelling?"

"Dad, I'm hungry!" Benedict said, running a hand over his curls.

David appeared behind him, rubbing his sleepy eyes and yawning. "Is Mummy back?"

"I'm going upstairs to finish my homework," Hamish said, heading upstairs.

One less.

Four left.

OK.

Sherlock looked at the kettle.

Tea, as Jane said, always had a soothing effect.

"Your homework is perfect," Sherlock said, handing his daughter her exercise book.

Sophie placed her empty cup in the sink and smiled. "Thanks, Dad."

Lock and Benedict had already run upstairs to play video games. Sometimes Sherlock couldn't understand what they found so exciting in those games. Jane said they were not dangerous for them as long as they played for no more than two hours per day. And even Mycroft got them more games every birthday, every Christmas and every other day in which he found all sort of excuses to give the boys those video games he knew Sherlock hated so much.

"Aren't you going to play those horrendous video games your brothers are always playing with?"

The little boy looked up from the last seat on the table and smiled lovingly. "No. 'm waitin' for Mummy."

Sherlock could have sworn David was special. He and his twin brother Benedict were the same age, both were identical twins and both even wore the same cloths but in different colours - Jane's shopping suggestion. But they were so different.

The same.

But different.

David looked smaller than Benedict.

"Do you want to wait for her downstairs with me?"

The boy nodded and took his daddy's hand. Sherlock and David had a very special relationship. Actually, David had a very special relationship with both of his parents - but his parents and the other children didn't have the kind of relationship they had with David.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Why you and Mummy sleep in one bed?"

They were at Sherlock and Jane's room. Sherlock was folding some clothes Jane had left for him early that day and he knew that if she got home and he hadn't done it as she asked him to there might not be sex that night.

"Because we're married."

"Daddy?"

"Yes, David?"

"And you have to be married to sleep in one bed?"

"Not necessarily."

David looked confused. "Daddy?"

"Yes?"

"Grandma and Grandpa sleep in one bed?"

Sherlock certainly didn't want to think of it. "Yes."

"And Grandpa Greg and his girlfriend?"

"Yes, they sleep together in one bed."

"Daddy?"

"If it's another question involving a couple and a bed -" The detective trailed off when he spotted the fearful look in his son's face. "Yes, David?"

The boy hesitated for a moment. "Daddy... you prefer Benny?"

What?

Sherlock sat next to his four-year-old and placed a secure arm around his little shoulders. "Why you ask?"

"Cos you like him best," David said softly. "Benny's brave and he says 'I'm bored' like you all the time and Grandma Lizzie says he's like you when you were little," the boy looked down to his little fingers. "And you don't like me when I ask questions."

The detective considered his son's words for a moment. He didn't like Benedict more than David. He would never like or prefer any of his children over the others. He loved all of them no matter what they did, if they burped after eating, if they were noisy even when he needed silence to think, if they broke his microscope or ruined his experiments, if they were asking questions all the time and even if one of them cried or had a nightmare just when he and his wife were in the middle of something quite good as sex.

"I don't like your brother more than you. I love all of you equally," Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to the top of David's curls. "I won't repeat myself so you'd better get this into your brain, am I clear? Because I'll always love you independently of what you are or what you choose to be."

David smiled fondly to his father. "You speak weird," the boy giggled. "Daddy?"

"Yes, David?"

"Can you and Mummy have another baby?"

No.

It was out of the question. They managed and they were still doing so with five children - one teenager, one close to be one and three little children but adding one more to the equation would surely be a big change.

And Jane couldn't get pregnant again because otherwise it could be her life of their child's.

It didn't matter how much Sherlock wanted to hold a baby in his arms, he didn't want to lose Jane.

"No."

"Why?"

"Because you're already five," Sherlock tried to explain. "And there are no rooms left in this house for one more."

David nodded. "And can you adopt one like Sophie?"

"What do you know about that?"

"Sophie said she was a baby when you and Mummy adopted her cos her parents didn't want her any more," David explained. "Can you and Mummy adopt another baby?"

Maybe.

But still there was no room left for another child. And even if they got Sophie with the twins in one room, Sherlock knew Jane didn't have any energy left. Both had no energy left. Both were still young - Jane was thirty-one and he was thirty-two. They had a long life ahead, but they had already lived quite a long life and they had to go through quite a lot.

Both wanted to focus on them, on all of them - on Hamish, Lock, Sophie, Benedict and David.

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

Sherlock faked a smile. "And why you want another baby?"

David shrugged. "Cos they are nice. Jimmy's mummy had a baby and it's very little. Jimmy says his brother never cries."

"That's because Jimmy's brother was born mute and his vocal chords don't work properly."

"What's that?"

"It means he won't be able to speak."

"Why?"

"Some babies are born with different... conditions."

David nodded. "Like Hamish? He said he wears that thing in his ear cos he can't listen without it."

"Exactly."

It still hurt Sherlock to see his elder son and know he couldn't listen properly because of him.

They were so into their talk that neither of them realised Jane was already home.

"Hey," she said.

Sherlock looked up and found her leaning on the doorway of their room. She had bags under her eyes and she looked tired. But when David run to her arms, the tiredness disappeared and there was a wide smile on her face.

"Hello, Poppet," she said with the boys up in her arms. "I missed you."

"I missed you too, Mummy!"

Jane kissed him and patted his back. "Go upstairs with your brothers. Tell them I'll go and make dinner soon."

Both adults watched the four-year-old boy running upstairs. Sherlock remained on his place on their bed and smiled when she walked to him and sat on his lap, straddling his hips.

"I see you folded the clothes," Jane said and kissed him. "Good boy."

The detective put her long hands on her waist and slid one under her shirt. "I missed you."

Jane smiled and rested her head on his shoulder. They remained silent for long minutes until Jane looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "What's wrong with David?"

"He's been asking why we sleep in one bed and then asked me if we could have another baby."

She faked a smile.

Sherlock knew it.

"Didn't he ask how babies are made?"

The detective shook his head. "Not yet."

"Fish and chips?" Jane asked, getting off Sherlock.

Sherlock held her hand and kissed it. "Are you OK?"

The detective never asked because he knew Jane would never told him. But Sherlock knew Jane was remembering the baby she had lost years ago.

If it had lived, he or she would be six-years-old now.

"Yes," Jane lied. "Just a bit tired," she smiled and walked to the door. "Come on, I'm sure one of them - Benny or David will ask us how babies are made."

Sherlock smiled.

Later after dinner they asked.


	3. Father and Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 16
> 
> Lock - 12
> 
> Sophie - 10
> 
> Benedict and David - 7

__Not flesh of my flesh,_  
not bone of my bone,  
yet still very much my own._

_Never forget_   
_for one single minute_   
_that you grew not under my heart,_   
_but in it._

Consulting Detective Sherlock Holmes had a very peculiar relationship with each of his children. The five of them were different, all of them were different shades of one same colour, but yet _very_ different. Every child had their temper, a way to understand things, certain level of curiosity, a considerable amount of stubbornness - inherited from their father obviously and certain amount of sweetness and calmness - inherited from their mother obviously.

Let's start from the beginning.

Sherlock and Hamish had a relationship where everything had happened. The detective had met his first son when he was two years old and when he could barely articulate word. Sherlock remembered that morning when saw Jane and Hamish for the first time in two years. Both were alone, sad, broken. Jane was fighting for her son's life - Sherlock was fighting to not to relapse and find them again. When Jane forgave him and Sherlock joined the family, Hamish accepted him as his father, never asking why he was meeting his father now and not before. Sherlock helped Hamish and became his father, loving him and discovering things about him little by little. But Moriarty had another plans and Sherlock had to fake his own death and leave his family again, when another baby was on the way.

When Sherlock came back things were difficult. Jane had already rebuilt her life with another man, she was adopting Sophie, Lock didn't know who he was and Hamish didn't want to see him. Explaining Hamish what had happened had not been easy, but the boy understood - somehow. But when Hamish asked why he was the way he was, with developmental delay and hearing problems, Sherlock knew he could not keep it from his son any more. Telling his son he had done drugs and that one night he was so high that he hit Jane and pushed her down the stairs had not been easy. Hamish cried and asked Sherlock if he ever loved him. When Sherlock said he had always loved him, Hamish replied you don't hurt the people you love.

You don't hurt the people you love.

It hurt.

But it was true.

Sherlock had to explain his son, when Hamish was only six years old, that he hurt Jane when she was pregnant, expecting him, and that he was born before time, very earlier, because of him. And that because of him, because of the damage he had caused, Hamish was like that. Hamish said, between tears, that because of him he would always be ill and retarded. Sherlock cried because no matter how much he wanted to go back in time and change all the things he had done, he couldn't. He could never do it. Sherlock knew the horrors he had done will always haunt him, since the moment he was taken to the States to recover and he was told his son and Jane had both a heart attack and almost died to his last breath and even possibly beyond the grave.

Jane told Hamish she could forgive Sherlock because she loved him. Hamish said he forgave Sherlock, not only because he loved him, but also because he was his father and that he was in his heart even though he had hurt him when he was inside his mummy's tummy.

It broke Sherlock's heart.

But the years passed and people say time fixes and heals. Hamish never said anything about it. But he loved Sherlock. He loved him just like a child would love his father - no less and no more. Well, maybe a bit more. But he loved him. And Sherlock loved Hamish. Sherlock had always loved him, since that night when Jane told him, between tears, that she might be pregnant and that she didn't know what to do. The detective had loved Hamish since, holding Jane's hand, both read the blood test showing she was indeed pregnant of her first boyfriend, Sam Sawyer, a brainless young man who immediately after knowing she was pregnant with his child ran away leaving her and the baby alone.

But Sherlock held her hand, told everyone it was his child and married her so she would keep her baby. No matter how much of Sam Sawyer Sherlock always saw on Hamish face, because the boy was growing more and more like him and less and less like Jane, Sherlock loved him. He loved him no matter what. Sherlock loved Hamish independently of what Hamish was or choose to be.

Always.

The same thing or at least something very similar happened with Lock. Sherlock and Jane tried for him very hard. They tried and tried until one night after a case Sherlock got back home and Jane was waiting for him holding a positive pregnancy test. When he was told he was going to be a daddy again, Sherlock felt an overwhelming thing on his chest. Every time after making love, after leaving his seed deep into Jane, Sherlock kissed her still empty belly and, closing his eyes, he dreamt of a baby. The detective watched Jane's belly growing and growing after each week, after each month and almost until the last moment when, seven months later, he had to fake his own death and disappear for a long time.

Sherlock remembered being so close when Lock was born. He was just in the next room listening to Jane screaming, the doctors telling her to push and then his baby crying when he came to the world. And then, watching Jane breastfeeding, watching her with their son and telling Lock that if his daddy were alive he would be proud of him - this made Sherlock feel like the worst person in the world. The detective knew how much not only Jane but also Hamish and now Lock needed him, but he also knew he had to stay 'dead' otherwise his family would be killed. He had less than ten minutes to say good bye. Sherlock held Lock in his arms and asked him to look after Jane and to love his brother Hamish. He told Lock he was very proud of him and that he loved him. And finally, Sherlock kissed Jane and asked her for forgiveness, to wait for him and that he would always love her.

Coming back from the death had not been easy. The first time Sherlock saw his son Lock, the boy was two years old and he didn't know who he was. Lock was calling another man, Matthew Morstan, who was Jane's partner, but later turned out to be Sebastian Moran, 'Daddy'. The little boy loved that man and Sherlock was a mere strange. But after a long time the boy started to love Sherlock and after the incident in which he almost died, Sherlock and Lock got closer. Jane and him were a couple again and Lock never asked for that man he knew under the name of 'Matthew Morstan'. Even when that man had practically been a paternal figure for him for most of his life until Sherlock came back from the death, Lock never asked about him. Jane told him and Hamish he had died because he was ill and no one ever mentioned a word about him.

The years passed, and Lock developed a talent for music. Since always he liked to look at his father playing the violin and writing little dots on a special sheet of paper his father once explained it was composing. Lock was also very clever and at the age of four he could already read and when he turned five Sherlock gave him a violin so he could have his own and taught him how to play. Once the boy had picked up the basics, which happened really fast, he could play any song he wanted and even compose. Contrary to what Sherlock thought was the best, the boy joined a group in school and he was the youngest to have ever joined and to have ever play in a school band.

Sophie... Sophie was Sherlock's weakness. The detective had loved that little one since she was nothing but a little baby. When he and Jane adopted her she became Sophia Watson Holmes and she was their first daughter. Sophie was that little thing running to and fro along the flat wearing, always, pink or colourful clothes, sometimes a princess disguise and a plastic crown, sometimes all sorts of disguises that had been a present from her Grandparents Holmes and sometimes even naked until she turned three. Sophie was that little pink thing Sherlock liked to hold in his arms and kiss her belly to make her laugh and giggle. Sophie was also Jane's first daughter and therefore, as she was the only little girl in the house, both Jane and Sherlock spoilt her enormously. Sophie once said 'I want my room to be pink' and the following week Sherlock had got her room painted pink and decorated just as she wanted. When Sophie was sad or upset, she would ran to Sherlock's arms and every time she had a nightmare she asked Sherlock for a cuddle and for a story.

The day Sophie was told she was not their biological child, but adopted, Sophie cried. She was four years old when she asked why his brothers were like their parents, Hamish blond like Jane and Lock dark haired like Sherlock, while she had brown hair. She asked while Hamish and Lock had blue eyes like Jane and she had brown eyes like no one else in their family. Jane knew they would have to tell her someday and Sherlock, even when he didn't want to, agreed. When Sophie asked what meant to be adopted, Sherlock said it meant she was given to them and that she didn't came from Jane's tummy like Hamish and Lock. When Sophie asked why she was given to them and why she wasn't born from Jane, Jane said that she didn't know, but that they would always give her all the love she needed. When Sophie asked if she was given to them because her real parents didn't love her, Sherlock said that they would never know. Jane and Sherlock knew Sophie had been left on a bin when she was merely a few days old. But they also knew Sophie didn't need to know that.

The twins were an amazing example of how alike and how different twins can be. When the twins were born, Jane had a c-section and the first baby to come to the world was Benedict. Both parents remembered hearing a baby crying, quite loudly, and the doctor saying, jokingly, that they didn't need to check on his vital signs because of the way he was crying - Benedict had quite a pair of lungs! Two minutes later David was born and he didn't cry. Sherlock was holding Jane's hand when he watched the doctor taking the baby away from them and putting something into his mouth and pressing a stethoscope to his little chest. Jane's grip on Sherlock's hand tightened while waiting for any news about the second baby. David didn't cry until he was given to his parents - until he was in Jane's arms.

Benedict and David were the day and the night, the light and the darkness - opposites. Benedict started crawling, walking and speaking before David. His first word was 'Daddy' and David's first word was 'Mummy'. Benedict was two when he said 'fuck' and David was two when he said 'not good'. Benedict was three when he messed up with Sherlock's experiments and David was three when he tried to help Jane cooking Christmas dinner. Benedict said he wanted to a detective like Daddy while David said he wanted to be a doctor like Mummy. Benedict liked to play football and video games but David liked to solve jigsaw puzzles.

Benedict always had a special connection to his father while David had a special connection to his mother. Both twins loved their parents, but each had a favourite. But one night when David was three and after a nightmare he asked his Daddy Sherlock to read him a story, Sherlock realised how different both twins were and how much their differences made him love them. Benedict would usually say, after one page read, that the story was 'so boring' and 'predictable', but David would always wait till the end and then thank him for reading the story.

After a homework was graded, and if it had mistakes, David would sit down one afternoon and try to see, by himself, what he had done wrong and try to fix his mistakes. After a homework was graded, and if it had mistakes, Benedict would think of a new mischief. And the following day he would steal the teacher's pen because he didn't like the way his homework had been graded.

And one day Jane and Sherlock were called because apparently Benedict not only stole his teacher's pens but also put some chewing gum on his seat and finally called the teacher 'brainless' and 'stupid twat'. They were also told Benedict was given a thirty minutes detention every day until he wrote down 'I shall be a good student and not insult my teacher' at least one thousand times. Sherlock said it was a very pointless punishment. Jane said it was fair and that they should have given him twice a worst detention scheme. Sherlock said Benedict was right. And Jane said this time Benedict had gone too far.

Both parents decided to wait until after dinner to speak to the boy. They were grounding him for as long as the detention at school lasted and they knew they needed to have a serious talk with that boy. But Benedict had another plans that day and somehow the boy managed to piss every one off that day, since he got home back from school till dinner.

Benedict was a very special child. He was known by everyone in the family as 'The King of Mischief'. Benedict liked to ruin his Grandma Lizzie's flowers every now and then, mess with his Grandpa Richard pipes collection, ruin his Uncle Mycroft's umbrellas, mess with Sherlock's experiments, ruin his own clothes to Jane's dismay, break or ruin one of Hamish or Lock's video games, pull at Sophie's hair and finally make his twin brother David cry. Jane and Sherlock had been advised to look for psychological help. In nursery and in first year of school things had been the same and every now and then Jane or Sherlock would be called by the headmaster because apparently Benedict managed, somehow, to sneak into the teacher's office and once steal his pens because he didn't like the way he had graded his homework.

Both Jane and Sherlock thought Benedict just wanted attention.

But things got worse.

Seven-year-old Benedict stepped on Hamish and Lock's video games console, broke Sophie's favourite mug (present from Sherlock on her latest birthday) and put laxatives on David's food - all in the curse of a few hours between lunch time and dinner.

They were at the dinner table.

All silent.

"You're grounded. No park, no video games, no movies, no cake and no telly for two weeks."

"It's not fair!"

"Fair?" Jane asked. "You upset all your brothers and now David's ill because of you!"

Benedict shrugged, carelessly. "They had it coming."

What the -?

"What?" Sherlock asked, surprised of what his son had just said.

"Hamish and Lock never let me play with them," Benedict said angrily. "They were mean!"

Hamish and Lock were angry. They had wanted that console for months and were very good boys until their mother got them one for Christmas. What hurt them the most was not only seeing Benedict stepping on the console on purpose, smiling while doing so, but also knowing they were this close to finally complete the game they had been playing together for months now.

"We didn't let you play because it was a strategy game!" Lock said angrily. "It's not for babies like you!"

Jane pinched the bridge of her nose. "Lock -"

"It's not fair, Mum!" Hamish said. "We've been playing that game for months now!"

"And he also broke my mug!" Sophie said with tears in her eyes, angry. "It was my favourite mug and you knew it," she said to Benedict. "Daddy gave it to me!"

Sherlock, who was sitting next to Sophie rubbed her back softly. "We can find another one."

"No we can't," Sophie cried. "It had printed a picture of my favourite actor! It was unique!"

"Sophie pulled at my hair this morning!" Benedict said, folding his arms.

"No I didn't!" Sophie jumped. "Mum, Dad, he's lying!"

"Enough!" Sherlock said tiredly. "And David?" the detective asked. "What did he do to you to put laxatives on his food?"

Benedict examined his nails, ignoring everyone's eyes on him. "Nothing."

David, who was sitting between his parents remained silent. His blue eyes were on the floor. His tummy was hurting him and every time he went to the loo he cried. He had stained his pants and his trousers and he just had an accident in front of the whole family. His Mummy Jane had to help him to clean himself and then she had to wash his clothes. David felt upset and embarrassed. And he asked himself what he had done to his brother.

"You should have told us," Jane said. "if your brothers don't share, if your sister pulled at your hair -"

"I didn't do it, Mummy!"

"Let me finish," Jane said to her daughter and then turned to Benedict. "You do not take revenge. If anyone here does something to upset you you have to tell me or your father."

Sherlock nodded. "And there's no justification for what you did to any of your siblings. That console thing and the mug can be replaced, but what you did to David was dangerous and reckless, a very stupid thing to do -"

"IT'S NOT FAIR!" Benedict shouted. "THEY ARE ALL MEAN TO ME AND YOU NEVER SAY ANYTHING!"

"Shut up!" Sophie shouted angrily. "You're always doing naughty things and just being rude to everyone!"

Benedict stood on his chair. "Shut up, you adopted!" the boy shouted. "Your parents didn't love you, that's the only reason why you're here!"

"Stupid brat, don't talk to her like that!" Lock said angrily. "She's our sister!"

Jane held her hands on the air. "Boys, stop it!"

"You're a moron! You can't even play the violin like Daddy!" Benedict shouted.

Hamish got to his feet. "You're a stupid baby who wants to get people's attention -"

Sherlock sighed. "Sop it right now!"

"You're a deaf and a retarded!" Benedict screamed at the top of his lungs, cutting his father off. "You're not even Dad's son! You're a bastard!"

It took Jane less than a second to stand up and slap Benedict hard across the face.

The very first and the only time Jane ever laid a finger on any of her children, it was the very same day Benedict managed to piss everyone off and the very same day Hamish was told he was not Sherlock's biological son.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Jane..."

Jane grabbed the boy by his wrist and pulled him down his chair. "Go to your room."

"But..." Benedict mumbled with tears in his eyes and pressing a hand to his cheek. "Mum -"

"I don't care if you're hungry," Jane gasped. "Go to your room and have a think."

"I hate you!" Benedict shouted.

Jane looked into his son's blue eyes and felt as if she could die any moment soon. "What?"

"I HATE YOU BECAUSE YOU'RE A BAD MUM AND I DON'T WANT TO SEE YOU AGAIN!" Benedict shouted. "I DON'T LOVE YOU ANY MORE!"

A single tear rolled down Jane's face. She wiped the tear off her face and pressed a hand to her chest.

Sherlock looked at his children. David curled his little fingers on his shirt, Sophie was about to cry, Lock was staring at the scene before him with open eyes and Hamish was looking down at the floor. The detective left the table and placed a warm hand on the small of Jane's back. "Jane -"

"Benedict," she breathed, and wiped the tears rolling down her face. "Stay in your room and have a think."

The boy slammed the door shut.

Both Jane and Sherlock returned to the table. Both watched the tears rolling down Sophie's face - she already knew she was adopted. They had told her about it when she was little and she was fine with it. But she didn't need to be remembered her biological parents had left her.

Lock said nothing. He stared at his dinner in silence, but David was silently crying.

"I'm not hungry," Sophia said, standing up and gesturing little David to go with her. "Can we go upstairs, please?"

Sherlock shook his head. "You said you were hungry. Eat."

"Please, Daddy. I don't want to stay here." She said with tears in her eyes.

It broke both Jane and Sherlock's heart.

But Sherlock was truly hurt because Sophie was his little Princess.

"Can I go with Sophie?" David asked.

"Of course."

Lock twisted his lips. "This is shit."

"Language!"

"This is utter shit!" Lock said angrily. "He fucked our game, made every one cry and he just gets a 'go to your room and have a think'?"

Sherlock looked at his twelve-year-old son. Preadolescence behaviour.

Jane buried her face in her hands.

The detective rubbed her back softly. "Pick up your plate and go upstairs with your siblings."

"I don't want to fucking eat."

"You're not speaking to me like that! I'm your father!"

Lock rolled his eyes. "Whatever. I want a new console for tomorrow. Tom and Phil are coming to play and I'm not calling it off because of that stupid brat -"

"Go to your room right now!" Jane bellowed, with tears in her eyes. "If I hear one more thing about that stupid console you'll be grounded!"

Lock was angry. Bot Jane and Sherlock could see that. But the boy swallowed his own words and ran to his room upstairs.

Once they were alone, Hamish broke in tears.

"Hamish -"

"Why you never told me?" Hamish asked between sobs. "Why you never told me I'm not your son?"

He knew it.

God.

He knew it.

"I'm your father -"

"No, you're not!" Hamish shouted. "I'm not your son! I don't look like you or like any of them!" the sixteen year old boy buried his face in his hands. "You're not even my mother, are you?"

Jane had tears in her eyes when she walked to her sixteen-year-old son and tried to touch him, but Hamish got to his feet and rejected her touch. "Leave me alone!"

"Hamish -"

The teenager picked up his jacket and ran downstairs to the streets. Both Jane and Sherlock heard the door being slammed shut. Jane buried her face in Sherlock chest and cried. She cried in Sherlock's arms just like the night she told Sherlock she might be pregnant and that she didn't know what to do because Sam Sawyer had ran away, leaving her alone.

Some time later, and still holding Jane in his arms, Sherlock knew where Hamish was. He didn't even need to ask Mycroft for any CCTV footage. He knew where his son was. He was his father after all, so Sherlock knew where Hamish was.

"I'm going with you."

"No," Sherlock whispered. "I have to talk to him."

"I have to talk to him too," Jane said softly. "I've got things to explain..."

It was dark, slightly cold, but it took both parents nothing to find the teenager sitting on the park bench, alone, with his hands supporting his face, crying.

Jane sat next to him on his left side and Sherlock on his right side.

"Leave me alone."

She ignored it and placed a hand on his back. "Hamish -"

"I told you to leave me alone!"

"Don't talk to her like that," Sherlock said firmly. "She's your mother."

Hamish turned to him. " _You_ don't talk to me like that. You're _not_ my father."

It felt like a knife stabbing his chest.

Sherlock had never wished this day to come.

Never.

"Hamish, please -"

"Are you my mother?" Hamish asked, with tears in his eyes. "Please tell me the truth. Don't lie to me any more."

Jane held her son's hand softly. "I'm your mother."

Hamish blinked and tears rolled down his face. "Who's my father?"

"Sherlock's your father -"

"Tell me the truth!" Hamish cried. "Please!"

Jane bit her lip and closed her eyes. And in that moment thousand and thousand of memories came to her mind. Jane remembered everything - everything. Since the very first moment she thought she might be pregnant when she missed her period and to the moment Benedict deduced and told everyone Hamish was not Sherlock's biological son.

"Sherlock is not your biological father."

Hamish remained silent.

"I was seventeen when I was pregnant of my first boyfriend," Jane mumbled between tears. "When I told him he left."

"What's his name?"

Jane hesitated.

"Sam Sawyer," Sherlock said. "His name is Sam Sawyer."

"You married him and then he adopted me?"

Jane nodded. "I asked Sherlock to help me because... if my mother knew about Sam and that he had left she would have made me give you up for adoption. Or have an abortion," Jane explained. "Sherlock told everyone you were his so I could keep you."

"What?"

"We were seventeen," Sherlock said. "You already know that."

"But... you said Grandmother was a religious woman..."

Jane gasped. "She cared for appearances. I guess that's why she let me marry Sherlock."

"So what?" Hamish turned to Sherlock. "You married her and then hurt her?"

Sherlock already knew Hamish was talking about the night he was so high in cocaine that hit Jane and pushed her down the stairs. Hamish knew about that episode.

It hurt.

"I loved your mother," Sherlock breathed. "Even before our first marriage. I offered my help so she would marry me -"

"But not because you wanted to help. You didn't want me."

"Don't twist my words. I offered my help to marry her because I loved her and because I wanted to be your father." Sherlock explained.

Hamish laughed sarcastically. " _Please._ "

"Love, your father's not lying -"

"He's _not_ my father!"

"I always loved you!" Sherlock said. "Always. I'm your father!"

Hamish shook his head and more tears rolled down his face. "You can't love me! You're not my father! I'm the product of a _mistake_ my mother did with... with someone who's not you!" The teenager busted into tears. "You _can't_ love me!"

Sherlock embraced his eldest son. Because Hamish was his son.

"I never cared..." Sherlock gasped, tears rolling down his face. "I don't care if you don't have my blood. I'm your father and you're my son. I love you Hamish."

"You're not the product of a mistake," Jane whispered. " _We_ always wanted you, Hamish."

That night, when they returned home, Jane was in Sherlock arms, both were in their bed, she cried again. Sherlock promised everything was going to be OK.

Hamish asked them if his biological father ever wanted him... if he ever asked for him. And Jane had to tell him the truth, because they were not lying to him any more. Jane and Sherlock told him about that day in which he got lost in the park and he ran into his own father - into Sam Sawyer. Both parents told Hamish about Sam refusing to ever meet him.

Jane told her son she loved him.

Sherlock told his son he loved him.

Hamish told their parents he loved them.


	4. Mother and Son

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 16
> 
> Lock - 12
> 
> Sophie - 10
> 
> Benedict and David - 7

_The day you were born,_   
_you touched my soul._   
_You were the missing link,_   
_that made my life whole._

The following morning Jane and Sherlock went to Benedict's room. He was sitting on his bed, alone, surrounded by an entire mess. David's bed and all his side of the room was neat, but Benedict's was messy, his toys were all over the floor, as his books, his pens and his school uniform.

"You're grounded for a month," Sherlock said. "It does include amusement activities such as telly, films, park, video games, computer, cake and visits to your Grandparents."

Jane, who was standing next to Sherlock, remained silent.

"So what? I'm gonna be locked here?" Benedict asked, angrily.

Sherlock frowned. "First, you're not talking to me like that. I'm your father. Second, you'll be either here or with any of us. You'll help your mother with housework and me with my experiments and third, you'll seep here alone."

"Oh, David's gonna sleep in a cot like a baby with you?" Benedict said mockingly.

"No. David's going to sleep with Sophie," Jane said, angry. "Watch your tone or you'll be grounded for two months."

Benedict said nothing.

"You said you didn't want to see me but I can't change that because I live here and I've got another four children to look after," Jane said firmly. "You start your detention next week and if the headmaster calls any of us because of you're misbehaving _again_ you're going to a boarding school. I _mean_ it."

The boy said nothing.

It was a Saturday morning and as Jane was not working, she decided to go with Sophie and David and do the shopping. Once Jane left the room Sherlock closed the door and looked at his son. The detective wondered why Benedict was like this, so reckless, so naughty, so disrespectful and why he misbehaved. The detective needed to know if he had done something wrong, if Jane had done something wrong - if _they_ had done something wrong. But Benedict had been raised with David, both parents never preferred one over the other - they raised them and loved them equally so why was this happening?

"You're going to apologise to your brothers, to your sister," Sherlock said. "and to your mother."

Benedict shrugged. "Why? I didn't do _anything_ wrong."

"You upset all of them and you hurt your mother."

The boy said nothing.

"We meant it, about changing schools. Boarders only return home for holidays."

"You're shitting me."

"Watch your language," Sherlock said angrily. "I'm not 'shitting you'. You're too young to use those words. Where did you learn them?"

Benedict shrugged. "School."

The detective rolled his eyes. "I don't expect you to be like any of your brothers - don't even like me," Sherlock said, softly, yet firmly. "But you've gone too far this time," the detective's expression softened. "I'm disappointed in you, Benedict." He whispered.

This broke Benedict's heart. His Daddy Sherlock was his hero, his favourite person in the whole world and Benedict felt left alone, defenceless, hated. The boy knew he had done lots of not good things and that this time he had gone too far, that his mischiefs hurt not only his siblings but his mother as well, but Benedict didn't know what to do.

"You're all mean," Benedict mumbled, with tears in his blue eyes. "You love all of them and you hate _me_."

"I don't hate you."

"Mummy _does._ "

Sherlock shook his head, disappointed. "You and your brother are the last children she could have. She carried you inside her for _nine_ months - she could have had you earlier but she chose the pain of having not one but two babies inside her so you and your brother would be born healthy. Do you really think she hates you?"

Benedict said nothing. He looked down and tears rolled down his sharp cheekbones. The boy bit his lower lip and frowned. "I'm not going to apologise!"

Sherlock sighed tiredly. "You've got half an hour to clean your room, wash your teeth and dress properly. Then come to the kitchen and have breakfast."

The boy watched his father leaving and reluctantly started to tidy his room. He made his bed, placed his toys back to their places, folded his clothes and finally brushed his teeth, changed his pyjamas and went to the kitchen for breakfast. It didn't surprise Benedict to find a cup of tea with milk and sugar, toasts and jam. There was no cocoa and biscuits as he always had.

"I don't drink tea."

Sherlock sipped more of his coffee. "There's no cocoa until your mother comes back from the shops."

"I don't want toast. I want my biscuits."

"You're grounded."

Benedict sighed loudly and drank his tea and ate his toast quietly. Sherlock read the papers, made some phone calls and once the little boy had finished his breakfast he told them to wash his own mug.

"I can't."

"Why?"

"I can't reach the sink."

Sherlock pulled a chair close to the counter.

"Are you serious?" Benedict asked. "I could fall and break my neck." The boy's eyes were on his father's. "And die."

"I've seen you climbing on a chair to sneak biscuits and chocolate after lunch and you haven't fallen nor broken your neck, have you?"

Benedict washed his cup reluctantly.

By the time he was done Jane, Sophie and David were back from the shops. None said a word to Benedict, not even David who always said 'good morning' to his twin brother or Sophie who liked to kiss his dark curls. And not even his Mummy Jane who every morning kissed both of his cheeks. All of them were silent. Jane and Sophie placed the groceries in the cupboards and David the milk and more things in the fridge.

While Jane prepared lunch, Benedict had to help Sherlock to clean all his tests tubs, most of his lab equipment and help him to classify his papers and clean downstairs. The boy did everything his father asked him to quietly without saying word. Sherlock knew that his son had pride. Sherlock knew Benedict was not going to apologise so easily - and maybe not in a long time.

During lunch none said a word to the boy. Hamish and Lock talked about football, Sophie and their parents talked about her drama lessons and David remained silent. Benedict looked at him across the table but neither of the twins said a word. Having one in front of the other, to them, was like looking themselves in a mirror. They were even wearing the same clothes but in different colours. David had slept in Sophie's room, neither of them saw each other and yet both chose the same clothes but in different colours.

Sherlock took all of them to the cinema - despite he despised going to crowded places, but he accepted because all the kids wanted to see 'The Avengers 3' and they had been insisting for months now. Benedict also wanted to go. He had wanted to see the film since the trailer came out and all his siblings were going but him because he was grounded. Benedict had to stay and help his Mummy Jane washing the dishes and cleaning the kitchen. Jane said no word and Benedict remained silent.

Once everything was clean, Jane turned the telly on and sat on her chair. "The fact you're grounded doesn't mean you can't have your nap."

"I don't want to nap."

"Then do homework, read a book, play with your toys," Jane said, her eyes on the telly. "I don't care."

"It's not fair all of them can go to the cinema and I have to stay here." Benedict snapped.

Jane turned to him. "I don't want to listen to you. Go to your room."

Jane heard the door of the room slammed shut and closed her eyes. It hurt her to talk to her son like that, not to let him watch the films he wanted but Jane knew she needed to be firm. Benedict had gone too far this time and he needed to learn the lesson. She had been too soft, always, specially with Benedict and now Jane blamed herself because of her son's mischievous behaviour. Jane feared Benedict might not be able to change his own attitude towards everyone and she didn't want to send him to a boarding school. She loved him far too much to do that. But Jane really hoped Benedict could change his behaviour.

A few hours later the detective and the four children returned home and Benedict watched his older brothers Hamish and Lock running upstairs with a big shopping bag, Sophie showing Jane a new dress and David was also carrying his own bag with a new thing. Apparently Sherlock got the children a new video games console, Sophie a new dress to wear when they took her to the theatre and Daddy Sherlock got David a jigsaw puzzle of 'The Avengers'.

And apparently all had tea out so Jane prepared tea, toast and placed them on the kitchen table for Benedict.

"I don't like tea. Or toast," Benedict said angrily. "I want my cocoa and my biscuits!"

"You're grounded," Jane said.

Benedict got to his feet, took the cup, dragged a chair close to the sink, emptied his cup and washed it and finally threw the toast to the bin. All under his parents' eyes.

"What are you doing?"

"I said I don't like toast."

"You just can't throw food to the bin!" Jane said angrily. "There are children starving on the streets!"

"I don't care!" Benedict said. "I'm rich. I'll never be poor."

Jane looked at Sherlock.

"You will if I disinherit you," The detective said angrily. "You're going to your room right now."

"Fine! I don't wanna be here anyway!"

"And there's no dinner for you tonight. Go straight to bed," Sherlock hissed. "I don't want to see you."

Benedict pouted. "You won't let me starve. I bet you'll wait till Mummy's sleeping to give me food."

"Go to your room!"

Benedict went to his room. The family had dinner and the hours passed and it was almost midnight and his Daddy Sherlock had not gone to his room with a tray with food.

Daddy Sherlock had been serious then.

Benedict was starving. He wanted to eat - he _needed_ to eat and he knew that if he went to the kitchen and looked for something to eat his father would know the following day.

There was a soft knock at his door. Benedict waited for a couple of seconds until the door was opened.

It was David.

"I brought you this," his twin brother said, sitting on Ben's bed. "Mummy baked them."

It was a chocolate muffin. Jane had baked them to be eaten after dinner. David said he would eat it later. But the truth was that the boy hid it and kept it for his twin brother Benedict so he wouldn't starve. Benedict took the muffin in his hands and ate it rapidly, as he was quite hungry, and mainly because he loved the chocolate muffins his Mummy Jane baked.

"I have to go back to bed," David whispered. "Don't be mean to Mummy and Daddy, Benny. They are sad."

Benedict remained silent.

"I saw Mummy crying -"

"Leave me alone," Benedict said, cutting his twin brother off, and turning to face the wall.

* * *

 

The following morning Sherlock woke Benedict very early and told him to get dressed.

"Where are we going?"

The cab ride was not long but neither short. Benedict wondered where they were going until the cab stopped and the boy noticed they were at a not so nice side of London. There was a grey, boring building that looked more like a building close to be destroyed rather than a proper place to live.

It was a soup kitchen.

Benedict looked at the big place and at the people there. There were elderly people, young women and men and even little children. Some of them were with their parents and some other were alone. Before Benedict could even ask, Sherlock told him those were orphans, little kids who had no parents and lived in the streets. When Benedict asked why they were in the streets and not with social services, Sherlock told him it was because not always social services did a good job.

"Mr Holmes!" a young boy, probably about Benedict's age, ran to Sherlock and hugged him. "How are you Mr Holmes?"

"I'm fine, Tim. How are you?"

"'m fine."

"This is my son Benedict," Sherlock said.

The boy smiled to Benedict and extended his hand. "Hi! Mr Holmes told me a lot about you. I'm Tim!"

Benedict frowned when he looked at Tim's hand. "Your hand is dirty." The boy said with distaste.

And Tim saw that. "Sorry," The boy said embarrassed. "I had to sleep in the park last night."

"Go and wash your hands," Sherlock said with a reassuring smile. "Breakfast will be served soon."

As soon as Tim was out of earshot Sherlock turned to his son. " _Behave_."

"But his hands were dirty! And why is he wearing my old clothes?" Benedict asked, slightly angry. "He's wearing my favourite jumper!"

"You never wore that jumper and it didn't fit you any more!" Sherlock said and then his expression softened. "I help here."

Benedict frowned. He didn't knew it.

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "Most of them belong to my homeless network."

"What are we doing here?"

"We're going to help."

Benedict soon learnt what his Daddy Sherlock meant when he said they were going to help. Sherlock helped serving the breakfast and whilst doing so he asked most of the people if they had seen something strange, if they knew about a case and generally making himself sure his homeless network had information about the cases he was working on. Benedict had to wash the cups and the plates left with a couple of old ladies who wouldn't stop talking about how cute he was for coming with his daddy to help the homeless.

"Your dad's very nice!" Tim said to Benedict once the boy had finished washing the cups. "He's very very clever!"

"I know."

"You're very lucky ya know."

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Oh, really?"

"Yes," Tim said, "Your mum's Mrs Holmes, ain't she?"

"Yeah. What about her?"

Tim smiled. "She's sweet. She listened to my heart and told me I was healthy."

"Good for you -" Benedict frowned. "Wait, you know my Mum?"

"Yeah," Tim nodded. "Mrs Holmes is so cool. She's very nice to me and to all the people here. I wish I had a mum and a dad like yours, ya know. Mr and Mrs Holmes are good to all of us," Tim said. "I wanna be a detective like Mr Holmes when I grow up!"

The look in Tim's eyes every time he mentioned his Daddy Sherlock and when he looked at him made Benedict feel guilty. Guilty for having the things he had and that he never appreciated and guilty for seeing kids his age who had nothing - not even clean clothes, a place to sleep and not even parents. He had two parents who loved him, siblings who loved him, a proper bed to sleep, food, toys and warm clothes.

Benedict felt like an ungrateful person.

And it hurt.

"Do you wanna come home and play with me?" Benedict asked. "I have to ask my Dad first."

"Sure!"

"Let's go," Sherlock said, putting on his long coat.

Benedict looked at Tim and then at his Daddy Sherlock. "Dad, can Tim come home and play with me?"

Sherlock wanted to smile. "OK."

"Do you want to come now?"

Tim looked sad. "I can't now. I have to work."

"Oh... another day maybe?"

"Sure!"

That day after lunch Benedict was helping Jane washing the dishes when he told her about the soup kitchen, about the old ladies who wouldn't stop touching his curls and about little Tim.

"Tim," Jane said. "He's a very good kid. We've know him since he was five."

"Tim said you and Dad help there."

Jane nodded. "Every time we can. I do check-ups, your father helps with the food and teaches them and your Uncle Mycroft gets the medications people can't afford."

"Dad teaches them? And Uncle Mycroft helps too?"

"Yes. Your father teaches them the alphabet so they learn how to read - he helps adults and children. And your Uncle uses his connections to get them medications, clothes and sometimes jobs that help them to earn money and stop living on the streets."

Benedict looked surprised by that revelation. "I invited Tim to come here and play."

Jane smiled. "Ah yes, your father told me about it."

"He said he had to work. What does he do?"

"Didn't you deduce it?"

Benedict remained silent. The little boy could observe as much as his Daddy Sherlock, as much as his brother Lock and as much as David too. The difference was that Sherlock and Lock could observe and think whether their observations and their deductions were right, but David and Benedict could only observe but could never tell if their deductions were right. That's what happened when Benedict said Hamish was not Sherlock's son. The boy knew how genetics worked, and he had also observed that his eldest brother looked like no one within the family. Hamish didn't even look like their Mummy Jane.

"He begs for money on the streets and sometimes helps an old lady cleaning her garden," Jane explained.

"And why he doesn't go to social services so a family adopts him and he doesn't have to live on the streets?"

Jane sighed. "Because he went to a foster home once and the people there hurt him."

"They hit him?" Benedict asked innocently.

"No," Jane said, close to tears. "They... they touched him... in his private parts."

Benedict's eyes widened. He had been told by his parents that touching a person's private parts was a lot not good and that he shouldn't let any one do it to him and if it happened, he had to tell either to his father or his mother because that was a very wrong thing considered _abuse_.

"Why? Why they did that, Mum?"

"I don't know, Ben. But that's why Tim doesn't trust many people, just a few. It took me a while until he let me do a check-up. And he didn't trust your father when he gave him some clothes."

"He thought you and Dad wanted to touch him too?"

Jane nodded.

"Mum... do you think I can go again with Dad?"

"D'you want to go again? I thought you hated it."

"I don't hate it," Benedict looked away. "Tim seems nice."

Jane smiled. "I'm going in a few days to do check-ups. Do you want to come with me?"

Benedict just nodded.

His Mummy Jane gave him a small muffin. "Just this one. Now go to your room, it's time you had your nap. You must be tired after waking up so early on a Sunday."

Benedict gave the muffin back. "Why you never said that you and Dad help in that soup kitchen?"

"We told all of you," Jane said, "Your brothers come with us every now and then too."

The boy frowned. "But... I never knew."

"Maybe you weren't listening."

Benedict felt a terrible pain on his chest.

* * *

 

"He's dead," Hamish said, dropping two sheets of printed paper - an email sent by Mycroft. "He died two months ago."

Sherlock read the papers.

Apparently Dr Sam Sawyer surrounded by lawsuits for medical negligence put a gun in his mouth and committed suicide. There was also information about his family - Dr Sawyer was married but his wife lost their first children years ago, according to Mycroft's reports.

His widow was a very powerful woman in the States, and that's all Hamish needed to know.

"I asked for the picture," Hamish said.

Jane looked at the picture of Sam Sawyer taken from a website. Hamish looked so much like him, like his biological father.

"Do you... do you want to visit his grave?" Jane asked.

"No. Hamish chuckled. "I could go and ask for my inheritance. You know... the bastard was insanely rich," the teenager smiled bitterly. "But why would I want any money from him? He's not my father. And I don't need a penny from his pockets."

"You're rich," Sherlock said.

Hamish nodded. "I have rights."

Jane remained silent.

"His parents do still live," Sherlock said. "I'm sure they will find it fascinating to have a grandchild."

"I already have Grandparents," Hamish said, sitting next to Sherlock on the sofa. "And you're my Dad," The teenager patted Sherlock's back softly. "And I got your money, so I don't need them."

Sherlock smiled. "Brat."

"Old man."

"I'm not old!"

"Ha-ha, still an old man!"

* * *

 

Days passed and Benedict stayed thirty minutes after class for three weeks until he wrote 'I shall be a good student and not insult my teacher' one thousand times as his teacher Mr Parker said. By that time Benedict had already helped both of his parents to clean every corner of the whole house and had visited the soup kitchen several times too. He made good friends with Tim and watched his Daddy Sherlock teaching the people there how to read and his Mummy Jane listening to people's hearts and giving them the medication they couldn't afford.

Benedict was also present the day Mycroft went to soup kitchen. His Uncle got, using his contacts, medication for free for the homeless people and even clothes.

"I heard about you coming here," Mycroft said, sitting down with his nephew. "And that you're only a few days from finishing the grounding scheme your parents had designed for you. And I thought your father would never ground you. You must have done something terribly wrong."

"I broke Hamish and Lock's video game."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Only that?"

"I broke Sophie's mug, put laxatives on David's food and said Hamish is not Dad's son."

Mycroft frowned. "Reckless like your father, aren't we?"

Benedict shrugged. "I don't care."

"You _do_ care," Mycroft said, his eyes on his umbrella. "We Holmes' men have a soft spot for our mothers. And you are not the exception."

The boy remained silent.

"You'll apologise, believe me."

Benedict rolled his eyes dramatically. "Why you come here, Uncle Mycroft?"

The politician smiled. "Your Aunt Anthea has been helping this place for years. She got your father into this a few years ago and in addition I started to come here as well."

Benedict laughed. "Why? You were jealous of Daddy?"

"Not at all," Mycroft said.

The little children at the soup kitchen loved Anthea. She was always getting them clothes and toys and books every time she could, but always by herself. She never asked Mycroft to get them things using his power. Since Anthea and Mycroft got married years ago they had remained the same - she working as his PA and Mycroft as her employer. Few people knew they were actually married to each other. The only ones who knew were obviously the Holmes family, Anthea's and a few people within Mycroft's most private circle.

Since they were married Mycroft started helping the soup kitchen with the medication he could get for free for the homeless.

"Why you don't have babies, Uncle?"

Mycroft looked miserable. "We can't have children."

"Why? Is it because you don't like them?"

"No," The politician said, his green eyes on his wife. "Because we can't conceive."

"And why don't you adopt one? My Dad and Mum adopted Sophie," Benedict said. "They said they adopted her because they thought Mum couldn't have babies any more," the boy looked at Mycroft. "But she had me and David. I think we were an accident. Mum and Dad told me it's not true." Benedict bit his lip. "Mum says we are a miracle."

Mycroft smiled. "Maybe we could adopt, yes."

"Why don't you adopt Tim?'

"Do you think Tim would want me to be his father?" Mycroft asked, his eyes on the little boy who was chatting with Anthea a few feet from them.

"I don't know," Benedict shrugged. "I wouldn't. But because I love my Dad. Tim likes Auntie Anthea and he needs a family."

"Things aren't that easy, Benedict."

"You want babies?" Benedict asked innocently. "Tim thinks no one will ever adopt him because he's already a big boy and people always adopt babies."

Mycroft smiled to his nephew who reminded him of Sherlock when he was his age. "We have never discussed the possibility of adopting due to our demanding activities," the politician said. "But be certain that we would never choose. We will accept any child, as long as he or she wants us to be his or her parents."

* * *

 

"No, wait!" Benedict said, picking up the dirty forks. "I still need to help you to wash these."

Jane rubbed Benedict's back softly. "It's OK, Ben. You're not grounded any more."

"Really?"

"Yes," Jane said, taking the dirty forks off Benedict's hands. "You've been very helpful and you've made housework easier," she smiled. "And funny too."

Benedict jumped off the counter and looked at the rest of the family who were all in the living room. His Daddy Sherlock was typing on his computer, Hamish, Lock and Sophie were playing cards and David was sitting on Jane's chair, watching telly.

The boy took a deep breath and walked to the living room. He cleared his throat and everyone turned to him.

"I... I want to say something," Benedict said nervously. "I'm sorry for calling you deaf, retarded and for telling you you're not Dad's son," The boy said to Hamish. "It was a stupid deduction."

Hamish smiled bitterly. "It's OK. It's all true."

No one said a word about it.

"I'm sorry for calling you 'adopted'," Benedict said, his eyes on Sophie.

"It's the truth," Sophie said. "It shouldn't offend me."

"But I didn't mean it. You're my sister."

Sophie hugged Benedict and pressed a kiss to the boy's curls. "I love you, you little monkey!"

Benedict smiled but then turned to his brother Lock. "I'm sorry for calling you a moron."

Lock just smiled.

"But I'm not sorry for saying you can't play the violin like Dad," Benedict said with a smile. "Cos it was truth."

Lock burst into laughter. "Yeah, I know that."

Then, Benedict turn to his twin brother. "I'm sorry for putting laxatives on your food and making you poo in front of any one."

David blushed, but he smiled a bit. "It's OK."

"And for being rude to you all the time, for being a bad brother and for calling you names," Benedict said and walked towards his twin brother. "I'm sorry, David. Please forgive me?"

The other boy closed the space between them and hugged him tightly.

Sherlock looked at Jane pressing a finger to her eyes, wiping the tears before they could even go out her blue eyes.

"I love you, Benny."

Benedict smiled. "I love you too, David."

Sherlock got to his feet. "Time to go to bed."

"No, wait, Dad!" Benedict said. "I have to apologise to Mum." The boy turned to his Mummy Jane and held her hand. "I'm sorry Mummy. I'm sorry for telling you that you were a bad mummy and for saying that I hated you. You're the best mummy in the world and I love you lots and lots," Benedict circled Jane's hips with his arms and buried his face into her belly. "I'm sorry, Mummy."

Jane knelt down and kissed the boy's tears. "It's all right, Benedict. I just hope you've learnt the lesson. And that you're going to be a good boy now."

Benedict nodded and turned to Sherlock. "I'm sorry, Dad."

"What for?"

"For being rude to you and for embarrass you."

Sherlock smiled. "You were rude to me, yes," The detective caressed his son's dark curls. "but you never embarrassed me."

"You said you were disappointed in me."

"I was," Sherlock said. But then smiled. "But now you've made me very proud of you. Like your mother I hope you've learnt the lesson and now you'll think twice before hurting any of your siblings or your mother again. Am I clear?"

Benedict nodded. "Yes, Dad."

That night David returned to his old room with Benedict.

It was funny how, just by chance, Benedict's mistakes lead the whole Holmes family to change their lives completely. Benedict and David were closer now, closer than ever. Now Benedict not only thought twice before doing something a lot not good but he also listened to David's words. Hamish and Lock learnt that not finishing a video game wasn't the end of the world and Sophie got closer to all of her brothers. She already was, but now it felt as if they lover her more - if it was even possible.

None of the children mentioned a word about Hamish's true parentage and about him not being Sherlock's biological son. Sherlock and Jane knew Hamish had explained some things to his little brothers and to his sister, but they never asked. It was their children's world.

And a couple of months later the children welcomed their first cousin: Tim Holmes.

Finally Mycroft got something not using his power because this time, he didn't need to. Now he and Anthea worked less (if possible) and Tim sometimes spent afternoons at 221 B Baker Street playing with his cousins when his Daddy Mycroft and his Mummy Anthea had a meeting with an important ambassador, with the Queen herself or when there was some important domination plan going around and his parents had to work hard in order to keep the country safe.

Mummy and Richard Holmes were so happy every time their two sons, their two daughters-in-law and their six grandchildren visited them every Sunday.

* * *


	5. Anniversary

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 18
> 
> Lock - 14
> 
> Sophie - 12
> 
> Benedict and David - 9

Every wedding anniversary was special. In most of them Sherlock had been the one surprising Jane. And Jane also liked to surprise Sherlock, even though the detective could deduce and know everything. Once Sherlock thought that giving Jane sexy underwear as a present was a good idea. But it wasn't. The idea came out when in a crime scene Sherlock found a Victoria Secret bag next to the woman's dead body. Apparently her husband found out she had a lover and that he gave her underwear as a present.

How Sherlock thought giving underwear as a present was a good idea - I don't know.

But people say that after so many years being married you ought to know the other person, your other half. Jane knew which brand, which kind, in which colour and which shirts, trousers, socks and shoes Sherlock liked. Jane knew Sherlock's sizes and she even knew which kind of underwear he preferred to wear. Now, the thing is, that Sherlock bought the wrong kind of underwear - well, not the wrong type, but in the wrong size. The bra was two sizes bigger and the panties two sizes smaller. When Jane looked at the underwear she blushed: it was a lacy bra and panties. The box in which they were in was a black one, velvet, soft. Expensive. Jane smiled at Sherlock and blushed at the same time. They were alone in their room, the children were all sleeping upstairs. Hamish was elven, Lock was seven, Sophia was five and the twins were two. Jane's smile vanished when she realised the panties were too small and that the bra was too big.

She cried. Sherlock said it was his mistake and that he should have known her sizes. Jane said she was too fat, that she couldn't wear those lacy panties and that after breastfeeding the twins her breasts had sag. She said she wasn't sexually attractive for him any more and Sherlock told her it was his fault, and that she had a good body and that her breasts were OK.

Sherlock's lack of knowledge about Jane's sizes cost him a wedding anniversary night without good sex.

However, most of their wedding anniversaries had been special because of the children. Because in most of them something happened and plans had to be postponed and instead of being two people in love, husband and wife, lovers, Jane and Sherlock had to be just parents. As I said, none of their children had come to the world with a textbook. No one taught them how to be a good parent. And both, Sherlock and Jane, were parents first, then husband and wife, then detective and doctor, then lovers and then man and woman. In that order. Their children came always first, always. No matter what.

So when they had already booked a table and a room at the best hotel in London, when they had already prepared everything so they could go out alone, hold hands, kiss under the stars of the city, make love as many times as humanly and loudly as possible for one night not worrying their children could listen and deduce the following morning... something happened.

Always.

Once Jane prepared a nice dinner with candles and food. The kids were at Mycroft's so they had the house for themselves. Sherlock was on a case and was to come home soon. Jane cooked all the afternoon and prepared the table with her favourite and most expensive tablecloth, put candles on the table and even bought a good wine, just like Sherlock liked it. She even got a dress for herself, heels and even went to the hairdresser - even knowing her hair would be ruined at the end of the night thanks to Sherlock.

Sherlock was back early, they had dinner and when they were about to make love, Mycroft called. Apparently Benedict broke one of Mycroft's most expensive vases, present from the Queen. When Sherlock asked him 'nicely' to look after the children just for that night because he was in the middle of 'something' Mycroft refused because he was very angry and apparently David was crying.

This time they had arranged everything to they could spend the weekend at their country house alone. Hamish and Lock were staying at Marty's, Hamish's best friend who had a brother around Lock's age, Peter, so at least the two older brothers would have fun. The problem were Sophia and the twins. The former suggested they could stay with their grandparents, but the twins didn't enjoy the idea so much. The twins wanted to stay at their Uncle Mycroft's to play with their cousin Tim, but the politician was taking his family abroad on a very well deserved holidays.

"Behave," Jane said, checking the twins' bags. "you must be good to your grandparents. Remember they -"

"Yeah, we know," Benedict said, rolling his eyes. "They are old and fragile."

"Where's Lock and Mish?" David asked.

"At Marty's."

Benedict frowned. "Why they got to stay at their friends' and we've to stay with Nan and Grandpa? It's not fair!"

"Marty and Peter invited them," Jane replied.

"I knoooooow!" Benedict said mockingly. "How could I have been so blind?"

"What is it?" David asked curiously. "What is it, Ben?"

Benedict smiled mischievously. "We're staying at grandparents' because it's Mum and Dad's anniversary."

"And?" Sophie asked from her place on Sherlock's chair, where she was reading a films magazine. "What about it?"

"They are gonna have sex!"

"BENEDICT!" Jane and Sherlock said in unison.

Benedict smiled. "Lots and lots of sex so they are kicking us out the house!"

Sophie hit Benedict on the head lightly with the magazine she was reading. "Ugh, Ben, shut up!"

Jane glared at the boy. "Benedict - enough."

"But it's true! It's all written on your faces," Benedict joked.

Sherlock pointed at Benedict. "Shut up. Not your business."

"You could've just said 'hey, you're staying at your grandparents because it's our anniversary and we're going to have lots of sex'. You didn't need to say those lies about the country house," Benedict said. "We know when you lie."

Jane bit her lip and finally laughed. "You don't know when we lie."

"Yes we do!"

"No, you don't," Sherlock said. "You're still young to make a full use of your deductive skills."

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Yeah, whatever. But admit it - I was right this time."

"OK, it's enough! We're not gonna discuss what we are or what we are not going to do during the weekend."

"Have lots of sex," Benedict said.

"Thanks for bringing such nice mental images to my mind." Sophie joked.

It was insanely hot. Too hot for that time of the year.

As soon as they got there, Jane took the shopping bags with food and Sherlock the suitcases inside the country house.

"Jesus, it's insanely hot here."

Sherlock threw their small suitcases to the floor and pushed her softly against the wall of the kitchen. The detective attacked her mouth and ran a hand from her bare thighs to her hips, lifting her dress and pulling at her underwear.

"Sherlock -"

The detective silenced her with a deep kiss and lifted on the air, so she was circling his waist with her legs. Sherlock undid the buttons of her dress and kissed her chest, pulled her bra down and sucked her nipples fiercely.

"Sher!"

"Jane..." Sherlock looked at her for a moment and then took her to the table, where he placed Jane and she pulled at his belt. "I need you."

Jane smiled. "I need you too," she unzipped his trousers and took his erection with her slender hands. "I need you inside me," she purred and moved her hands to the small of his back, pulling him closer for a kiss. "Fuck me, Sherlock."

Maybe it as because they were quite in the mood, because they had not touched each other in days, because they had looked forward to this for weeks, because it was their 15th wedding anniversary and because they just wanted to do it, they just fucked. Hard, fast, almost violently until it hurt and until they had no more strength left.

Sherlock loved it when he made Jane pant, whisper, scream his name and when she asked him for more, when she asked him to do it harder, faster - when Jane said she wanted him to hurt her and make her feel pleasure - all together. The detective ripped her dress off and kissed her body, sucked her nipples, teased them, bite them and finally tasted her. He liked to please Jane, make her melt under his touch and just look at her when he was bringing her to climax.

"Sherlock... ahhhh, yes," Jane panted. "Just there - yes!"

The detective was over Jane. She was lying on her back on the bed, her legs spread circling his waist and completely naked. The detective thrust hard into her, almost slamming his hips against hers and just burying his hardness deep into her, hitting Jane's soft spot with every thrust and driving both close to the edge.

"Jane..."

"Ahhh yes..." Jane panted and dug her nails into the skin of Sherlock's back. "Yes, yes, yes, there!"

Sherlock opened his eyes and looked into hers. "You feel... ah, so good."

Jane smiled. "Do I?"

"Yes," Sherlock said, almost breathlessly.

"D'you like how I feel?" Jane asked him between kisses. "How do I feel, Sherlock?"

"You feel so good," the detective thrust again hard and fast. "So tight... like the first time."

Jane smiled and soon she shut her eyes close when she felt Sherlock pounding hard into her, hitting her soft spot with every thrust, bringing her close to climax. The bed was moving and making noises. Jane could feel the bed breaking any moment soon. And they were being so vocal that only hearing their own voices screaming, panting with pleasure made them feel even more horny.

"Sher - ahhh, the bed."

Sherlock ignored her and thrust hard, fast.

"I'm... close," Jane whispered to his ear. "Sherlock please, touch me."

The detective sat on his heels and, whilst pounding into Jane, in and out, he touched her softly, doing circular movements around her clitoris using his fingertips, knowing this would only and surely bring Jane to climax. Sherlock looked at Jane's pale body underneath him and bent down to kiss her.

"I love you," he said between kisses. "Let it go, Jane. Come for me."

Jane bit her lower lip and came.

It took Sherlock a couple of minutes to come as well. The detective fell over her, both were catching their breaths and felt they had no more strength left.

"Don't," Jane said when Sherlock tried to move off her.

Sherlock sighed and rested her head on Jane's chest. He felt her heart beating calmly after some minutes. He took her hand and they laced their fingers. Sherlock looked at their wedding rings they had worn for fifteen years but looked brand new because they always polished them - because they cared.

"Did you like it, love?"

She pressed a kiss to his head. "I loved it," Jane whispered, caressing his dark curls that had some white hairs in between. "God, I missed you. I love it when you do it like this." She smiled.

Sherlock chuckled and moved until he was between her thighs and above her. He bent down to kiss her and caressed her cheek. "That night, our wedding night - after our first wedding," Sherlock whispered. "Did you want to kiss me?"

Jane smiled and nodded. "Yes."

"Did you want to have sex with me?"

"God, yes," Jane admitted. "I was pregnant, so hormonal and we'd spent the whole afternoon holding hands and touching so our parents would believe we really loved each other and..." She kissed him. "I have to admit I really wanted to have sex. But then when you left I realised I loved you."

"I love you."

"I love you too."

"Why are you wearing this?"

Jane pulled a face. "What is it?"

Sherlock looked at her.

"What?" Jane repeated. "Oh don't tell me, I look fat, don't I?"

They were sitting outside in the garden eating lunch. It was a sunny day, a very sunny and hot day. And it was so hot that Sherlock was wearing a pair of short trousers, the kind of trousers you wear to go to the beach and a pair of sun glasses. Jane was wearing a white bikini, sunglasses and a floppy beach hat.

"No," Sherlock said. "You look sexier."

Jane smiled. "It's been ages since I last wore one."

"You look beautiful," Sherlock said, kissing her. "You're not fat."

They ate lunch happily. They talked about their jobs, Sherlock about his latest cases, Jane about her patients and about their family. Greg was being serious with his girlfriend and apparently he was going to get married soon. Sherlock said Greg's girlfriend was not going to leave him. Jane said she was very happy for him.

Afterwards they went to the pond and swam together. They had lots of fun, they giggled, laughed and shared a nice afternoon together. Both felt like two teenagers again. Twenty years ago they used to do the same: Sherlock went to Jane's house during the summer holidays and they spent the longs afternoon in her garden under the sun, sometimes in her pool, talking, just being themselves.

"Sherlock!" Jane giggled when she felt Sherlock's hand trying to take the top part of her bikini off. "Stop it!"

He kissed her passionately. "Remember when you used to wear this when I went to your house, during the summer? I wanted to touch you."

"Really?"

Sherlock nodded. "You can't imagine how many times I masturbated thinking about you."

"Sherlock!"

He smiled. "You're blushing."

"Yeah!" She cupped his face. "I've known you for what? Twenty years? And you're telling me this now?"

"I'm still doing it."

"Sherlock!"

That night Jane prepared some food and they had dinner inside. It was dark and there were only a few candles on the table. Jane was wearing a loose green dress long till her knees and flat shoes. Her hair was loose, falling over her back and she was wearing soft pink lipstick. Sherlock was wearing a pair of dark trousers and a white shirt with his sleeves rolled up.

"Happy anniversary," Jane said, pressing a chaste kiss to Sherlock's lips. "I love you, Sherlock."

"I love you," Sherlock whispered. The detective gave her a rectangular velvet box. "Happy anniversary."

Jane smiled. "We said no presents, remember?"

"Open it."

She opened the box and gasped when she realised what was inside. It was her father's dog tags.

John H. Watson - Captain of the British Army.

"How did you..."

Sherlock helped her putting the collar on. "Wasn't that difficult to find."

Jane had been looking for her father's dog tags for years. Apparently Harry had kept them but lost then. After Harry and their mother were killed in that 'car accident' Jane looked for those dog tags everywhere but never found them. One of Jane's most important people in the world was her father John. She always had a special love for her father and she felt like dying when he was killed in Afghanistan. Captain John Watson was killed in action just a few days before he could go back home before Hamish was born.

And Jane and Sherlock named their first child 'Hamish' after him.

"Thank you," Jane said with tears in her eyes and threw her arms around his neck. "Thank you, love. Thank you."

"He was a good man," Sherlock said softly. "I wish he was alive to see our children. He would be so proud of you."

Jane smiled. "You think?"

"Of course. You're an excellent mother. You keep our insane family sane," Sherlock smiled tenderly and kissed her. "And you make me very happy. Every day. Always."

The detective got to his feet and put a CD on. "Dance with me."

They stood together in the middle of the living room. Jane had her arms on Sherlock's shoulders and his were on her waist. She closed her eyes and rested her head on his chest.

"Remember our first dance?" Sherlock said, pressing a kiss to her sandy hair. "At the prom?"

"Why do they dance?"

"Because it's why these kind of parties exist, I guess. Go and dance with Molly."

The dark haired boy shook his head. "No."

"You promised, Sherlock."

"I haven't danced with you."

Jane smiled and waved her hand and pointed at Molly. "Go and make her happy. She deserves it, you know."

"Why? She didn't do anything for me." Sherlock said.

"She doesn't need to do anything for you. Just go and do it."

Sherlock stood up but took Jane's arm and walked with her until they were standing in the dance floor, inches away from the other couples dancing.

"What are you doing?"

"Dancing. Isn't this what you wanted me to do?"

"But not with me, go and dance with Molly!"

"You can't dance, can you?"

"No, thanks for pointing that out, clever boy."

"Follow me," instructed Sherlock as Jane tried to keep up with the boy's steps and movements. But the song none of them knew stopped and one of Jane's favourites filled the space.

"This is my favourite song."

"You have to put your arms here," Sherlock took Jane's hand and put them on the curve of his neck and then he let his hands rest on her waist.

Jane nodded. "Did you love me, Sherlock?"

"Yes," the detective admitted. "I always loved you. Since the first moment I saw you."

They danced like that for long minutes. Both remembered all the things they had lived together, since they met at school, their summer holidays together, when she told him she was pregnant and was a mere seventeen-year-old teenager, when they got married for the first time and when they moved to Baker Street. However, they chose not to remember those bad memories between them - the night he was so high that hurt her, when Sherlock faked his death, when he left and she rebuilt her life and finally when they discovered Dr Matthew Morstan was Jim Moriarty's right-hand man, Sebastian Moran. Jane and Sherlock chose to remember the days their children were born, the day they adopted Sophia, all their days as a family with their children and nothing else.

"Sweetheart?"

"Hmm?"

"I need you." Jane whispered.

On Sunday morning Sherlock opened his eyes and stirred. The windows across the bed were wide open and it was still a bit hot, but it was raining. The detective sat on the bed and ran a hand over his curls. There was a strong smell of sex in the room and Sherlock couldn't help but frown at the emptiness of the bed. Jane was nowhere to be seen.

The detective walked to the bathroom and opened the door. Jane was in the shower, with her back to the door, and washing her hair.

"Don't do that again," Sherlock said as soon as he stepped into the shower and pressed himself against Jane.

Jane smiled and handed him the soap. "What is it?"

"Don't leave me alone in our bed."

There was something in her eyes.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing," she said and faked a smile. "Miss the children, that's all."

After having a shower together they had breakfast, then they cleaned the house and prepared their suitcases to go back home with their children.

They had lunch and after it they lay together in bed. Jane was snuggling against him, resting her head on his chest. Both were in silence, just listening to the rain outside, and their hearts beating together.

"What are you thinking?"

Jane bit his lip. "That our son is leaving to uni soon."

"Ah," Sherlock nodded. "Lock's over the moon now that he'll have his own room."

"Lock will leave us in three years. And then Sophia. One by one they'll leave us."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to her head. "They'll not leave us. They are just growing up."

"I'll miss Hamish," Jane added. "My first baby."

"I had an extensive talk with him. He's not going to make us grandparents. We're too young for that - we're thirty-six!"

Jane laughed her head off. "But he's little yet."

"He's eighteen. We were his age when he was born," Sherlock said.

Jane looked up at him and pressed a kiss to his lips. "I don't think so. He and his girlfriend are quite focused on their studies," she smiled. "But, it wouldn't be too bad actually."

"What do you mean?"

"Having another baby in the house."

"Hmm."

She kissed him on his jawline and then on his neck. "We could try for another baby."

The child Jane lost would be elven years old. Sherlock knew how much broody Jane was. Just by looking the way she looked at Molly's baby, the way she always looked at all the babies in general, the way her eyes danced on the babies' clothes on the shops... Sherlock knew she wanted to have another baby, at least one more, but they couldn't no matter how much they wanted it.

"You know you mustn't get pregnant."

"I wish we could have just one more."

Sherlock was dying to have another baby, another child. It wasn't a whim. It was a desire. Sherlock was dying to hold a little baby in his arms, the product of his and Jane's love. Their eldest son was leaving to go to university soon, Lock was a growing teenager, Sophie rejected his cuddles and his stories and the twins were two nine-year-old boys now, too big to be held in their arms, too little to be teenagers yet.

And they had so much love to give.

"No," Sherlock said, hugging her tightly. "I don't want to lose you. I need you here with me. And the children need you too."

Jane faked a smile. "Well, maybe in a couple of years our son has one."

Sherlock kissed her softly. "Maybe."


	6. Happy Birthday

**Lock - 9  
**

"I want a beehive."

"We've already talked about it, sweetheart," Jane said softly. "A party? You don't want a party here with all your friends?"

Lock shifted on his chair and sulked. "I don't have friends."

Both parents couldn't help but smile just a bit. Lock was the carbon copy of his father. Lock sulked like Sherlock, talked like Sherlock, looked one hundred percent like Sherlock and even could play the violin like Sherlock. The difference lies in the way Lock was - he was _tender_. He liked to hug his Mummy Jane when no one was looking, he liked to press kisses to her cheek and tell her how much he loved her. Lock was a very quiet boy at school, had just a few friends because of the way he was and he was even a bit shy.

"And what about Marty and Peter?" Sherlock said.

Lock tossed on the sofa. "They are Mish's friends."

"But they like you," Jane reminded him. "They wouldn't invite you to play with them if they didn't like you."

"Hmm."

"And what about Tom and Phil?" Jane asked, sitting next to her son and rubbing his back softly. "They came here a few times. They seem nice."

Lock smiled. "They are cool."

"OK then, Marty, Peter, Tom and Phil, anyone else you'd like to invite?" Sherlock asked.

Lock shook his head. "The others are stupid."

"Why stupid?"

"They think that knowing whether the Earth goes round the Sun is important," Lock explained. "And the names of the other stupid planets."

Jane sighed. "It's primary school stuff, Lock."

"It's irrelevant, Mum. It's meaningless. Tell me: will knowing anything about planets save my life someday?"

Sherlock chuckled. "I have already deleted it. You should have done so years ago..." Jane glared at him. "...Knowing whether the Earth goes round the Sun might not be meaningless but it certainly occupies the space more relevant things need."

Lock turned to his Mum. "Cake will do."

* * *

**Sophia - 5  
**

"I want a pony, a party with all my friends, a new doll, a new princess costume, make up, new shoes like Mummy's, a dog and, and..." Sophie bit her lip and looked at his Daddy Sherlock. "Have I mentioned I want a pony?"

Sherlock chuckled. "That's all?"

She nodded.

"That's a lot, sweetie," Jane said with a smile. "Let's see again... a pony?"

"Yes," Sophie nodded. "A pony."

"We can't get you pony."

"Why?"

"Because we would need a big garden and we don't have one," Jane explained. "Besides, Grandpa Richard has horses. You can go and ride one whenever you want."

Sophie pouted. "OK."

"We'll get you everything but the pony, the make up, the shoes and the dog," Sherlock said.

"Why not make up?"

Jane smiled. "Because you're still too little to wear make up."

"Why not the shoes?"

"Because those shoes are worn by women like your mother," Sherlock explained. "And you're still five."

Sophie bent her head. "And why not a dog?"

"Because the twins are still very little," Jane said softly. "How many friends do you want to invite?"

"All of them."

Sherlock frowned. "How many? Give me an exact quantity."

Sophie looked at him and smiled. "All my friends! Clara, Mary, Joanne, Diane, Kate, Florence, Alice, Amy, Rose, Pauline and Alexandra."

Jane looked at Sherlock. "I think it'll be better to have the party at your parents'."

It was a sunny Saturday. The Holmes' garden had been fixed for a party for more than twelve little girls, for Sophie and Hamish, Lock and the twins obviously. Sophie liked 'Minnie', the character from Disney, so everything had been decorated with pictures of Minnie, even the cake and there was a big poster with 'Happy Birthday Sophie' written on it. Nan Lizzie prepared a large table with food. It had a bright pink tablecloth and there were cupcakes and all sorts of sweets and the maids were preparing everything just like Sophie wanted it to be and even Grandpa Richard brought a horse from his stable for the girls to ride at some moment during the party.

Jane helped Sophie with her dress and new shoes and later brushed her long hair. Sophie insisted so much that Jane agreed to put her some pink lipstick on - but just a little bit.

"Nan, Grandpa, Daddy, how do I look?"

"You look lovely, darling," Nan Lizzie said.

Grandpa Richard smiled. "You'll be the most precious girl of this party."

Sherlock knelt next to his daughter and kissed her cheek. "You look absolutely beautiful. Like a princess."

"Good afternoon, Mr Holmes," a chorus of little girls said to the detective. All of them were looking at the detective with bright eyes.

Sherlock sighed. There was a group of almost fifteen little girls all around him, looking at him with wide eyes.

"Hello."

Sophie held his Daddy Sherlock's hand, proudly. "Girls, this is my Daddy Sherlock. Daddy, she's Alex, she's Amy, she's Clara, she's Mary, she's Joanne, she's Diane, she's Kate, she's Florence, she's Alice, she's Alice, she's Rose and she's Pauline."

"Hello girls," Jane said, carrying a tray with sweets.

"Good afternoon, Mrs Holmes," the chorus said.

"Sophie, why don't you go and show your friends your horse?" Jane suggested. "Ask Grandpa Richard to help you."

Once all the girls left them alone Jane smiled at her husband. "It's fine to have a little crush, you know."

"They are _five_."

Jane nodded. "Hmm. But their mothers find you _attractive_ apparently. It doesn't surprise me a few little girls like you too."

* * *

**Hamish - 14  
**

"We'll go to the movies."

Really?

"No party?"

Hamish smiled. "C'mon, Dad. Little kids have birthday parties now."

"I'm not little!" Lock said from his place at the end of the table.

"I'm not talking about you," Hamish said. "Your last party was cool. Tom and Phil were quite good."

Lock rolled his eyes. "Obviously. They are my _friends_. They are good at football."

"So, movies then?" Jane asked. "No cake?"

"Nah, I think we'll go out."

They went to the cinema and watched an action film involving cars and travelling all around the world. They were a group of almost ten boys led by Hamish and Lock of course. Both brothers were very close and Hamish asked Lock to go with him because he said his birthday party would never be the same without him. Lock went with some of his friends too and they had lots of fun apparently.

Jane and Sherlock stayed at home with Sophie and the twins and it was a bit late when the two oldest boys returned home.

"And? Did you have fun?" Jane asked.

Hamish smiled. "Yeah. The film was amazing!"

Sherlock looked at his son but didn't say anything.

"He thinks he's in love."

Jane looked at her husband. She was brushing her hair and putting some lotion on before going to bed. "What?"

"Hamish invited a girl - one he fancies," Sherlock explained. "Our son, apparently, has mistaken a simple chemical effect."

"My baby has a girlfriend?" Jane asked.

"No, she's not his girlfriend yet."

"But he's too little..." Jane sat next to Sherlock on their bed. "He's still my baby."

Sherlock looked at Jane.

"What?" she asked.

"He's a fifteen year old now who already masturbates," Sherlock said, as if what he was saying was the most common thing in the world. "Hardly a baby, don't you think?"

Jane rolled her eyes. "Sherlock!"

* * *

**Benedict and David - 8**

"It's our birthday in two weeks," Benedict said after dinner.

Jane nodded and ran a hand over her face. She had just come back home after quite a long shift and the only thing she wanted was to go to bed and sleep. But Sherlock was away on a case and dinner had to be made, she had to check Hamish was taking his medication, that Sophie and Lock had done their homework and put the twins to bed.

"Yes it is," Jane said, caressing his son's dark curls. "What do you want for your birthday?"

The twins looked each other and smiled.

"We want a party, please?" David asked nicely. "Could we have a party, Mummy?"

She smiled. "Of course, sweetheart. Anything you want."

"So we want a party in which we could play 'paintball' and -"

"No!"

Benedict pulled a face. "But you said anything!"

"But not paintball!" Jane said. "That's a very extreme and dangerous game and you're seven," The doctor sighed. "Where do you get those ideas from?"

The twins shrugged. "From telly?" they said in unison.

"A party with a cake, cocoa and sweets, yes," Jane said. "That's OK. But you're two and I know you, so you probably want very different things don't you?"

Benedict shook his head. "No, we want the party to be at Grandparents' because we want to play football."

"Oh."

"Yes!" David said cheerfully. "We want to play a match Benny and his friends against me and my friends. Hamish agreed to be the referee."

Jane couldn't help but smile. "All right. I'll talk to your father about it."

**Two weeks later...**

"OK, you know the rules," Hamish said to both twins who were standing in the middle of the futsal pitch their grandparents had fixed on their big garden for the twins' birthday party. "it's just a game, so play fair."

Both twins nodded.

Benedict's friends were wearing dark shorts and dark blue t-shirts and David's were wearing dark shorts and bright red t-shirts. They had invited each five boys so they could play futsal. Benedict was the most confident one, so he was sure he and his team were going to beat David's. And David wasn't that confident. David was shy and he said he only wanted to enjoy a match with his brother.

"Remember you're not playing with me but _against_ me," Benedict said seriously. "Let's the best twin win."

David smiled and held Benedict's hand. "Let's the best twin win."

"Hey, it's just a game," Hamish reminded them. "Don't start with that shit of 'who's the best twin'."

"It's not 'shit'," Benedict said.

"Yes it is," Lock said. "Listen, just play fair. Don't fight or you'll upset Mum and Dad."

David shook his head. "We're not going to fight and we're not going to upset Mum and Dad, right, Benny?"

"Yeah."

Hamish rolled his eyes. "OK. Play fair."

Jane was sitting next Sherlock's when the match started. "Who's gonna win?"

Sherlock frowned. "Both are good at sports, but Benedict has the confidence David lacks of."

Benedict scored the first goal.

"C'mon boys!" Jane shouted.

"Don't do that."

She turned to her husband. "Do what?"

"Don't cheer them on."

"Why?"

"You're being ambiguous," Sherlock explained. "You said 'boys'. You're supporting both, but only one will win."

Jane smiled. "It's just a game, love."

"Let's see," Sherlock said with a smile when David scored the second goal of the match, the first for his team.

One of David's friends fell to the floor.

"Hey!" Benedict shouted. "No one touched him!"

Hamish shook his head. "Penalty kick for the reds!"

David's friend kicked the ball and scored the second goal for his team.

David 2 - Benedict 1

Two of Benedict's team scored two goals.

David 2 - Benedict 3

"One minute left!" Hamish said, looking at his watch. "One minute left!"

David had the ball and two other boys were behind him. He managed to escape from them and ran to the post.

He hesitated.

"C'mon boys!" he heard his Mummy Jane.

David focused on the post and kicked.

"GOAL!"

Hamish gathered the boys. "All right, it's a tie. Let's kick some penalties -"

"No," Benedict said. "It's a tie."

"Yeah," Lock said. "When the game finishes on a tie the players usually -"

"No," David cut his brother off. "It's a tie."

"Exactly," Benedict agreed and put an arm around David's shoulder. "No one's better than the other. Well, I think David's the best because he's good at all the subjects at school."

David smiled. "But you're good at sports."

Both looked at each other and smiled.

"Happy birthday to you!" a chorus of more than ten boys sang together. "Happy birthday to you! Happy birthday Ben and David," Jane prepared the camera and smiled. "Happy birthday to you!"

Benedict and David blew out the eight candles and smiled for the pictures.

Sherlock cut the cake and handed all the guest and the family a slice.

"Happy birthday, Benny!" David said and pressed his slice of cake to Benedict's mouth, covering most of his face with cream.

Benedict giggled and did the same. "Happy birthday, David!"

* * *

**Jane - 25**

"Take them upstairs to OR!" Jane ran to the other ambulance. "How many more?"

"Twelve here and more ambulances are coming," the paramedic replied.

There had been an accident in the city. Apparently a bomb exploded in the tube and many people were hurt and many people had died as well. It had been a terrorist attack and all the hospitals around were collapsing.

Jane was about to finish her shift when it happened and now she had to stay and help. She was turning twenty-five and she was about to go home to have tea with her children and her husband. Sherlock told her the kids were to stay later with his parents so they could go out and have dinner together but now that there were so many people to take care of and not so many doctors to help, Jane had to stay.

The hours passed and passed.

And Jane completed a twenty four hour shift.

"Check on the blood pressure. If needed call Dr Ragings," Jane instructed a nurse. "He will know what to do."

Jane went to the changing room. She had no energy to change her clothes so she only put her coat on over her scrubs and took her bag and left. She turned her mobile on and realised she had missed calls from Sherlock, Mycroft, her in-laws, Greg and some friends. Jane realised she had missed the tea party her children were organising for her and she knew Sherlock had probably tried to bake a cake, as he always tried, but always failed so he ended up buying one from Speedy's.

She got downstairs and signed a few charts before leaving and looked up to find Sherlock sitting on a chair in the waiting room. Hamish and Lock were sitting next to him, together, and the detective was holding little Sophie in his arms.

The three children were all sleeping.

"Love?" Jane frowned and looked at the small cupcake on Sherlock's hand, which had a pink candle at the top of it. "What are you doing here?"

Sherlock smiled. "They wanted to see you." The detective patted Sophia's back and the boys'. "Wake up, look who's here."

The boys woke up and ran to her Mummy Jane. "Happy birthday, Mummy!"

It was midnight and her birthday had just ended.

Sophia woke up too and Jane held her in her arms. "Happy biwday Mummy!"

"Thank you, my babies," Jane hugged them tightly. "Thank you. Now let's go home."

Sherlock placed Sophie on her pushchair and the couple walked side by side. The detective held her hand and kissed her softly.

"Happy birthday, Jane. I love you."

She smiled. "I love you."

* * *

**Sherlock - 27**

"Happy birthday, Dad," Hamish and Lock gave him a tight hug and handed him a small box clumsily wrapped with blue paper and a card that had written _'Happy Birthday Daddy, we love you, Hamish and Lock XXX'._ "Hope you like it!"

It was a small magnifier.

"Just what I needed," Sherlock said with a smile. "Where did you get it from?"

Hamish and Lock smiled. "We can't tell you," Lock said. "Grandpa Greg says we can't say where we get presents and how much we paid for them."

"Then I shall assume your Grandfather Greg helped you to get this."

Hamish nodded.

Both had used their savings - the money they got from their grandparents and their uncle every now and then. Once when Greg was babysitting they asked him to help them to get their Daddy Sherlock a present for his birthday and, as they had never been to any of the crime scenes Sherlock was always working on, Greg suggested they could get him a new magnifier to work with.

They were having breakfast all together in Jane and Sherlock's bed. Jane, with Hamish, Lock and even little Sophie's help prepared a very yummy breakfast for the detective, which included coffee 'Black. No milk. Two sugars', toast and juice. But Jane had also prepared a cake, so they surprised the detective by singing him a happy birthday song all together.

The detective woke up and rubbed his eyes when he heard all his three children singing him the happy birthday song. Hamish was holding a cake with twenty-seven candles and next to him were Lock and Sophie.

And behind them was Jane, holding a small box wrapped with light blue paper and a red ribbon at the top of it.

"Happy birthday, Daddy!" Sophie said and hugged Sherlock very tightly. "I love you lots!" She pressed a sloppy kiss to his cheek and handed him a middle size packet and a drawing.

Sherlock smiled. "I love you lots too. Let's see this," the detective looked at her drawing. "This is me?"

"Yes," Sophie pointed at the drawing. "This is you wearing your scarf and your coat and look here!"

Sherlock followed her finger.

There was something written at the bottom of the sheet with bright pink crayon.

_'I love you lots! Sophie XXX'_

"Mish and Locky helped me to write it," Sophie said. "Do you like it, Daddy?"

He smiled at her. "I love it. Let's see this, shall we?"

The detective opened the small box and found a pair of new black leather gloves.

"You like 'em, Daddy?" Sophie asked.

"I really, really love them, thank you, Princess."

Hamish, Lock and Sophie shared a look and giggled. "It's time you opened Mummy's present."

Jane smiled and sat next to her husband on their bed. "Are you ready? No deducing!"

"All right."

Sherlock was given a small box wrapped with light blue paper and a red ribbon at the top of it. The detective had to try very hard not to deduce what was inside.

"C'mon Daddy, open it!" Lock said cheerfully.

"You all know what's inside?"

"YES!" the three said in unison.

Sherlock looked at Jane and their children. All of them were smiling. All of them looked happy - far too happy.

What was it?

The detective unwrapped the box and finally opened it. Inside he found a white envelope and hen he took it out the box he found two pairs of little shoes inside. They were the type of shoes newborn babies wore.

Sherlock looked up and met Jane's eyes.

Hamish, Lock and Sophie were smiling, waiting for their Daddy Sherlock's reaction.

Still not believing what he was seeing - and what those two pair of shoes meant - Sherlock opened the envelope and looked at the scan showing two little babies. And it said:

_Patient: Jane Watson Holmes._

_Pregnancy test: Positive._

"Is this..." Sherlock looked at her. "God, are you...? Is this - " there were little tears in his eyes. "Am I..."

Jane kissed his lips softly and rubbed his back softly. "Yes. You're going to be a daddy again." She held his hand and laced their fingers. "Happy birthday, Sherlock."

"Of two?" Sherlock asked, surprised. "They are two?"

She nodded and tears rolled down her face. "Identical twins," Jane pointed at the scan. "They are together."

"But you..."

"I know," Jane nodded with a wide smile on her face. "It's a miracle."

Sherlock embraced her and kissed her softly. Both had their eyes closed and both were together in each other's arms when the kids joined their hug. The five of them were all together in a hug.

After losing a child three years ago, and after being told she would never get pregnant again, Jane and Sherlock were celebrating she was not only pregnant but also she was expecting twins, _identical twins_.

"I love you, Jane." Sherlock kissed her lips and moved a hand to her stomach. "Thank you."

Jane smiled at him tenderly, lovingly. "I love you."

"Ugh! Stop kissing!" Lock said.

Sherlock smiled. "You all knew?"

"Yes," Hamish said.

Lock rolled his eyes. "It was obvious, Dad."

"It wasn't obvious!" The detective turned to Jane. "How far along you are?"

"Almost eight weeks."

"How could I not know?"

Jane kissed him. "I just knew a few days ago and I told them," she explained. "They helped me to get you these," Jane said, her eyes focused on the two pair of little shoes she had just given to her husband. "And I think they are going to be boys."

"Two boys?" Sophie asked. "Are you sure, Mummy?"

"It's just a feeling."

Sherlock caressed her stomach. "Benedict."

Jane rested a hand over his. "And David."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Futsal: Is a variant of football that is played on a smaller pitch and mainly played indoors between two teams of five players each.


	7. Mycroft Holmes

The very same day Mycroft Holmes and Anthea Jones (yes, her real name was 'Anthea') got married, soon afterwards the wedding the newly couple went back to his office where the politician had a meeting with the Egyptian ambassador and where Anthea had papers to hand to her employer and husband, documents to type and tea to prepare for him as well.

As the very diplomatic man he was, Mycroft convinced his partner that invitations had to be send instead of getting married in a very secret wedding as she always dreamt of. However, there was not an office full of important people such as ambassadors, the Royals, personalities of the showbiz, the PM's family and so on watching them getting married. The only ones invited were Mycroft's parents, Sherlock and his family, Anthea's parents and no one else.

Mycroft was wearing his best suit. Anthea was wearing a nice green dress that was perfect for a modest wedding and also perfect to work in an office. They said 'yes', signed papers and finished the private civil ceremony pressing their lips together in a very sweet, tender, loving kiss. Then, they smiled for Mummy Holmes' camera and Anthea pulled out his blackberry and told her now not only employer but also husband that they had a meeting with the Egyptian ambassador in minutes.

No one at the office said a word now that Mycroft Holmes and his PA were wearing matching golden rings.

And no one said a word when Anthea Jones started signing papers as 'Anthea Jones Holmes'.

The couple had their honeymoon two years after getting married.

Questions started to be asked as months and then years passed. Anthea and Mycroft visited Mummy and Father Holmes every Sunday where they saw Sherlock and Jane and their constantly growing family and they couldn't help but know, without even talking about it, without even visiting a doctor, that they could not conceive. It had been long months trying and that little baby never appeared. The politician once suggested getting himself tested because he felt he was the one unable to impregnate her. Anthea had tears in her eyes when she told him she would never let him do that because they didn't need to know who was the one who couldn't conceive. Anthea said it was not important.

Mycroft's deductive skills were so powerful that people knew they could not hide a thing from him.

So Mycroft knew that the one who couldn't conceive wasn't her wife but himself.

And the politician thought it wasn't fair. He worked hard, he worked in the shadows and because of him most of the population of his country were alive and safe. Mycroft knew he had given up too much for his career, for his job, for the duty he was meant to accomplish every single day of his life. He had known Anthea since he had started working for the government, since he was twenty something and his Anthea was a merely young girl who had just finished high school but had skills no special secretary of more than forty and with more than twenty years of experience had. They had lived far too much, Anthea had picked up the pieces when Mycroft felt his world was collapsing and she was always on a second place because Mycroft's job always came first. And now that Mycroft was allowing himself to enjoy his own life just a bit more he couldn't have the only thing he had always wanted: a family.

"Uwella," little David babbled. "Uwella!"

The politician smiled. "'Umbrella', David. It is 'umbrella'."

"Aw, he's cute, Mycroft," Anthea commented.

"Do not correct my son. Correct yours the day you have one," Sherlock said, not really thinking what he was saying.

There was a long, awkward silence filling the room. Realisation hit Sherlock soon afterwards when he saw Jane glaring at him with murderous eyes.

Jane cleared her throat and smiled awkwardly. "Coffee?" she asked nervously. "Does anyone want coffee? Tea?"

"Tea, please," Anthea walked with Jane to the kitchen. "I'll help you."

The two Holmes brothers were left alone.

And before leaving, Jane glared at the detective again.

"Apologise!" she muttered, angrily.

Mycroft smiled awkwardly to the small children playing together in the playpen and fixed his eyes on them. His brother looked at him, at then at the frown between his eyebrows, the way Mycroft shifted on his chair, how his fingers were doing drumming movements on his knee.

Angry.

Hurt.

Had a slightly desire to kill him.

What he did was a lot not good.

"I apologise."

Mycroft turned to him. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me!"

"From you, dear brother, I can take anything you say," Mycroft said calmly, but then his tone changed. "But I shall not remain silent when you have just hurt my wife's feelings."

"I'll apologise to her."

Mycroft said no word.

Sherlock was at loss of words. It was sad to deduce your brother had fertility problems and while they had never had a good relationship, Sherlock felt honestly sorry for his brother. "I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything."

The only sound in the living room came from the little twins playing together in their playpen. Minutes later Jane and Anthea returned carrying a tray with cake and tea and coffee for everyone.

When Sherlock tried to apologise, Anthea faked a smile and told him she didn't need to hear a word about it not because she didn't believe in his words but because she chose not listen to them.

"Anthea -"

She tilted her head. "It's OK, Sherlock. It's OK."

Mycroft held his wife in his arms when she cried that night. But she wasn't crying because of Sherlock's words.

Anthea was crying because they had been together for years, they had a big house but just one room in the whole house was occupied and several others were empty, waiting for children that would never come. She cried because her belly would never carry a child, she would never breastfeed, they would never change nappies and they would never have a baby to raise, spoil, entertain - _love_.

* * *

 

"He's grounded," Jane explained as she checked the boxes with medications Mycroft brought. "He's been coming with Sherlock since then."

Anthea looked at Jane and then at Mycroft. She would never understand how they managed having five children - and all of them were so different. Their oldest child was a teenager, Lock and Sophie were just there already showing symptoms of preadolescence behaviour and the twins were a demon and an angel. David was sweet, tender and Benedict was all a little demon. And yet Jane and Sherlock both looked fine - fine.

"Why you don't have babies, Uncle?"

Mycroft looked miserable. "We can't have children."

"Why? Is it because you don't like them?"

"No," The politician said, his green eyes on his wife. "Because we can't conceive."

"And why don't you adopt one? My Dad and Mum adopted Sophie," Benedict said. "They said they adopted her because they thought Mum couldn't have babies any more," the boy looked at Mycroft. "But she had me and David. I think we were an accident. Mum and Dad told me it's not true." Benedict bit his lip. "Mum says we are a miracle."

Mycroft smiled. "Maybe we could adopt, yes."

"Why don't you adopt Tim?'

"Do you think Tim would want me to be his father?" Mycroft asked, his eyes on the little boy who was chatting with Anthea a few feet from them.

"I don't know," Benedict shrugged. "I wouldn't. But because I love my Dad. Tim likes Auntie Anthea and he needs a family."

"Things aren't that easy, Benedict."

"You want babies?" Benedict asked innocently. "Tim thinks no one will ever adopt him because he's already a big boy and people always adopt babies."

Mycroft smiled to his nephew who reminded him of Sherlock when he was his age. "We have never discussed the possibility of adopting due to our demanding activities," the politician said. "But be certain that we would never choose. We will accept any child, as long as he or she wants us to be his or her parents."

Later that day, when Anthea had already turned her mobile off, when Mycroft had already finishing working and when both were finally on their bed, Mycroft asked Anthea about Tim.

"He's so sweet. He asked me if we needed our garden to be cleaned," Anthea said with a bitter smile.

Mycroft pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Would you like to adopt him?"

"What?"

"Would you like to adopt Tim?" Mycroft repeated the question.

Anthea looked at him but said nothing for a moment.

"I know it's me," Mycroft whispered. "Because of me you'll never have your own offspring. I'm deeply sorry, my love."

"Hush, it's not your fault Myc -"

"Yes it is," the politician cut her off. "I'm useless as a man."

Anthea smiled tenderly to her husband and kissed him softly. She cupped his face with her slender hands. "You're not useless. You're the bravest man I know. You saved this country. You're my husband and I love you, Mycroft. Don't ever say you're useless because you are not."

* * *

 

All the papers were in order. They could adopt any children they wanted and Mycroft hadn't even used his power as a member of the British government.

They could adopt Tim.

Now they really needed to know if Tim wanted them to be his parents.

"Hello, Tim."

The boy smiled. "Hello, Mr Holmes. How are you today, Mr Holmes?"

The boy was far too polite to be a homeless boy who had lived on the street for most of his life. "I'm fine. How are you, Tim?

"Good, thanks. And Mrs Holmes?"

"Anthea? She'll come soon," Mycroft explained. "What are you doing?"

"'m waiting for Ben and David. They said they'd come to play."

It was a Sunday morning. Mycroft arrived the soup kitchen with Jane and Sherlock - Anthea was to arrive soon, so were the twins, that according to Jane, had overslept and Hamish was going to bring them soon.

Mycroft smiled. "Do you like them?"

"Yes!" Tim said with a bright smile. "They are nice to me and they let me play with their toys when I go to their house."

"Oh, really?"

The boy nodded eagerly. "They invited me to a sleepover last week. And Mr Holmes showed us sheep eyes!"

"Sheep eyes?"

"Yeah!"

Those were human eyeballs actually.

"Mr and Mrs Holmes are very nice. And Ben and David's brothers are cool and their sister Sophia taught me how to use a computer," Tim added after a moment of silence. "It must feel good, ya know, to have a family."

It hurt.

"I'm sure it must feel good, yes. I wish I had a family like my brother's."

The boy frowned. "But you have a family, Mr Holmes."

"I have my wife... Well, my brother, my parents, my nephews and my niece," Mycroft explained. "But what I mean is that I don't have a family of my own."

"Then have babies."

"We can't."

"Oh," the boy looked apologetic. "I'm sorry, Mr Holmes."

Mycroft faked a smile. "No harm done."

"Why don't you adopt? There's a good place I know. Lots of little babies to choose," Tim said excited. "You're very important so I know that if you go they'll give you all the babies you want."

The poor thing was suggesting Mycroft a place where he could adopt babies.

Where he could choose.

"I don't think we could adopt a baby."

"Why? They are nice and little and everyone wants babies," Tim said innocently. "They say it's better to adopt babies."

Mycroft sighed. "Because my wife and I have... very _demanding_ jobs and having such a small child... it won't be easy for us and I'm not that young to wake up and nurse a crying baby in the middle of the night."

"Oh..."

"Who told you it's better to adopt babies?" Mycroft asked.

The boy shrugged. "No one. But it's true though."

"Why?"

"Cos people like babies, Mr Holmes. And it's easier if they don't wanna tell the baby he or she was adopted."

"Would you like to be adopted, Tim? Have a family, a home...?"

The boy nodded and smiled tenderly. "I wanna have a family, a mum and a dad who love me," Tim said. "A home... maybe, I don't know. I'm used to live in the streets."

"My wife and I... we want to adopt."

"I can go with you and and Mrs Holmes and show you the place I told you," Tim said. "And maybe you could find a nice baby."

Mycroft smiled just a bit. Anthea said she wasn't sure she would have the strength needed to raise a little baby. Both were young, in their middle thirties, but they didn't considered themselves young enough to nurse a baby when they had such demanding jobs. Their jobs weren't the ones they could simply resign once they had grown tired of them.

And Anthea said she didn't want to adopt a baby when there were lots of children who also needed a home and parents who would love them.

"Would you," Mycroft hesitated. "Would you like to be our child?"

For mere seconds Tim said no word. He frowned - he was deeply lost in thought.

Mycroft knew it had been a wrong idea-

"Hi," Anthea said, sitting next to her husband and pressing a chaste kiss to his cheek. "Hello Tim, how are you sweetie?"

The boy jumped over them and threw his arms around their necks.

"Yes!"

Anthea smiled when she realised what Tim meant.

* * *

 

"This is my room?" Tim asked with wide eyes. "All of this?"

Both nodded. "Do you like it? We can change the distribution of the furniture or maybe the walls -"

"No!" Tim cut Anthea off. "It's amazing! I really like it, thank you Mr and Mrs Holmes."

Two months after their talk, Mycroft and Anthea were finally given the full custody of Tim and they became his parents. Tim was not Timothy "Tim" Holmes.

Anthea and Mycroft painted one of the rooms of their new big house light blue and together they bought the furniture, toys, clothes and so on. They wanted his child to have everything and be happy. Mycroft bought a new house which had all the rooms they needed and a garden. He wanted his child to have a big garden where he could play with his cousins and friends. Mycroft and Anthea wanted Tim to have all the things he never had before.

"You don't need to call us 'Mr' and 'Mrs Holmes'."

"So... can I call you 'mum' and 'dad'?"

Anthea nodded. "You can call us 'mum' and 'dad' or simply by our names," she smiled tenderly at him. "Whichever you prefer, sweetie."

"I like 'mum' and 'dad'," Tim said.

But having a child, having stored his room with all sorts of things he might need such as clothes, toys, games, a computer and so on didn't meant complete happiness.

Because Tim had problems trusting people.

The very same day Tim arrived at their house, Anthea was showing him the rest of the house and when Mycroft placed an arm around his thin shoulders the boy stepped back rapidly and looked scared. And when Anthea raised a hand to caress his soft reddish hair she saw him shutting his eyes close - as if he was expecting a slap more than a soft touch. Mycroft and Anthea both noticed that when after having a bath they boy went to his room and locked the door to dress himself. Tim looked fearful when in the night Mycroft went to his room to say good night - as if Mycroft would do something to harm him.

Mycroft already knew something about Tim's past. The boy had been left on an foster home when he was merely a few days old and since then until he was five he lived in different places, going from family to family because no one adopted him. But the politician investigated and found out not only about Tim being abused but also about him being hit.

"I'm sorry!" Tim said nervously. "I'm so sorry Dad! Please forgive me!"

Tim dropped a glass to the floor. Clearly the boy was not used to them.

"It's nothing -"

"I'm sorry! I promise I won't do it again! Please don't hit me!"

Anthea frowned. "Sweetie, we would never hit you."

Tim had tears in his eyes when he told them about his past. The last foster home where he was staying at was nice and the people there gave him clothes, food and toys. But when once he accidentally broke a glass he was hit several times with a belt and grounded for two days without food.

And later he was sexually abused.

"Adam said I had little hands..." Tim said between tears. "And he made me touch his willy all the time when his wife was not home..." he snuggled close to Anthea. "He said he'd kill me If I didn't..."

Oh God.

"And he touched my willy too and it hurt."

"It's OK, Tim," Mycroft said softly. "He will not hurt you again. I will make myself sure he never gets close to you or to any other child. I promise."

The following day Mycroft asked Anthea to cancel all his meetings saying there was a matter of national importance he ought to take care of.

And at an old warehouse Mycroft met Adam.

And Adam met Mycroft and his henchmen.

Mycroft explained Adam he had enough power to make anyone he wanted disappear without leaving a trace. And that's exactly what he did - he made himself sure Adam disappeared without leaving a trace and not before telling him he should have never hurt Tim.

When Mycroft returned home he assured his child he had already taken care of that man.

No one ever saw Adam again.

* * *

 

"Mummy, Father," Mycroft cleared his throat. "He's Tim. Our son."

Mycroft and Anthea organised a lunch at their new house and invited Mummy and Richard Holmes, Sherlock, Jane and their children. Mummy and Richard Holmes found Tim adorable, who wearing a pair of blue jeans, green converse trainers, a white tee and his reddish hair - that made him look like Mycroft - perfectly combed to the side and his dark eyes - that made him look like Anthea - Tim had bright brown eyes.

Tim was a seven year old boy who was taller for his age, had reddish brown hair, pale complexion, brown eyes, pink cheeks and smiled happily.

The kid looked like an angel.

"Tim, she's Elizabeth, my mother, and he's Richard, my father. They are your grandparents."

The boy smiled. "Hello. I'm Tim."

"Mycroft told us lots about you," Mummy said. "But he never mentioned you were so handsome."

Tim blushed.

His grandparents showed Tim pictures of Mycroft as a child, told him stories as well about him, about them, about their family - they made Tim feel part of them, as if he had always been part of them. They organised a lunch on a sunny Sunday and all the Holmes family welcomed Tim.

Elizabeth and Richard adored the boy. Practically everyone did. Jane and Sherlock, Mycroft's secretaries, the people at his office, the Queen and even his teacher and his classmates.

As Tim was very good friend with the twins, Mycroft and Anthea knew that it was better if they sent Tim to the same school. And Tim, Benedict and David became inseparable. The three of them were together in the same class, spent all the breaks together and Tim sometimes went to the twins' after school when Mycroft and Anthea had too much work at the office or a meeting with some ambassador. Sometimes the twins went to Tim's after school and became closer to Mycroft, to whom he regarded was a 'scary' uncle and they also became closer to their Auntie Anthea when they discovered she could cook very yummy cakes and cookies and who was very sweet as well.

"Whoa! Uncle Mycroft's so cool!" Benedict said as he looked at Tim's new video games console. "I thought he was a stick in the mud!"

"Hey! Don't talk about my Dad like that!"

The day Mycroft learnt how to play football soccer on the PS3 and when Tim mentioned he couldn't beat his Daddy, Sherlock learnt how to play too because his brother couldn't be cooler than he. Because now Benedict and David said that their Uncle Mycroft was 'cool'.

And Sherlock was not going to let that happen.

Mummy and Richard Holmes were so happy every time their two sons, their two daughters-in-law and their six grandchildren visited them every Sunday. But they were not so happy when Mycroft and Sherlock ended up arguing over who was the best at video games.

Mycroft usually won.

And Sherlock sulked.

"I've never seen him so happy like this," Anthea confessed Jane. "He even stays at home during the weekends!"

Jane smiled. "If Mycroft doesn't work on weekends, then he must be really happy."

Indeed he was.

* * *

 

"Dad, what do you do for a living?"

"I work in an office," Mycroft replied. "With your mother."

Tim nodded. "Yeah, I know that. But what do you do? Cos you know the Queen and the Prime Minister... you must be someone really important."

"I occupy a minor position in the British Government," Mycroft explained to his seven year old son. "I - We... we do things secretly."

"Are you spies?"

"No," Anthea said. "What your Dad means is that our jobs are not very... public. We don't appear on the news or on the papers."

Tim nodded.

"What did your uncle say?" Mycroft asked after deducing the reason why his son was enquiring him about his job.

"Uncle Sherlock said you run this government," Tim explained. "And Mish said you own half of this country."

"Ha-ha," Mycroft laughed. "Your uncle finds amusing to tell you jokes."

"But Uncle Sherlock never jokes," Tim said. "He says you can see the CCTV footage and that you know everything about everyone."

Mycroft sipped more of his wine. "It's manly because I can see things many people take for granted."

"Like Uncle Sherlock, Lock and the twins? Cos they can tell a lot of things by just looking!"

"Exactly."

"Can you teach me? Please?" Tim asked. "I want to deduce like you and like my cousins!"

Mycroft caressed his son's hair. "The art of deduction can't be taught."

"Oh... it can only be inherited then?"

The boy looked sad.

"Yes and no," Mycroft explained. "I can teach you the basics and you can use the knowledge you consequently obtain wisely," the politician warned his son. "You've seen your Uncle Sherlock being... rude to people."

The boy nodded and laughed. "Uncle Sherlock told the cashier at the shops that he had to wash his hands after masturbating. What's masturbating?"

"You're still too little to know that," Anthea said.

"Back to deductions. I will teach you the basics only if you promise to keep the information to yourself and only use it in useful, very useful situations. Am I clear?"

Tim nodded eagerly.

Once they had finished dinner, Anthea helped their maid with the dished and watched Mycroft sitting with Tim together in front of the fireplace. Mycroft was explaining Tim the basics of deducing and Tim had a little notebook where he was writing everything down.

"So... " Tim bit his pencil. "I have to observe?"

Mycroft nodded. "Careful observation is the key to a good deduction."

**One year later...**

"Happy birthday, Tim," Jane said and handed him their present.

"Thank you, Auntie Jane," the boy turned to his uncle. "Thank you, Uncle Sherlock."

Tim opened his present. It was a jigsaw puzzle. "I wanted this one! Thank you!"

Tim said he never knew the exact day he was born, so he wanted his birthday to be celebrated the very same day he was adopted by Mycroft and Anthea. So for his eighth birthday - for the first birthday he was celebrating in his life, his parents organised a big party for him at their house. The garden had a large table for the family and another table for Tim, his cousins and his friends from school.

"Hey, Tim," Benedict patted his back. "What did Uncle Mycroft get you for your birthday?"

Tim smiled. "This, look!"

Tim showed his cousins and his friends a golden retriever puppy with a blue ribbon on his neck.

"Dad, Dad, Dad!" Benny and David said in unison. "Can you get us a dog, please?" David said first.

Benedict pouted. "Yes, Dad, please!"

"What's its name?" Sophie asked. "Aw, its so cute!"

Hamish and Lock caressed him. "Dad, can we have a dog too?"

"His name's Hercules," Tim said. "Dad and I chose the name."

When all the guest had already left, the maids were cleaning the garden and Mycroft and Anthea were tucking him up on his bed, Tim asked his parents if Hercules could sleep with him.

"Of course he can," Anthea pressed a kiss to his forehead. "Happy birthday, Tim. I love you."

Tim smiled to his parents. "I love you too. Thanks for being my parents."

"Thanks to you for being our son," Mycroft said with softly. "I love you."

* * *


	8. Love

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 10
> 
> Lock - 6
> 
> Sophie - 4
> 
> Benedict and David - 1

Jane went to the cemetery and visited her father, her mother, her sister and Mrs Hudson's graves. She got them lovely flowers and spent some time in each grave. However, Jane spent more time at her father and Mrs Hudson's. Jane told them about the twins, about Hamish, Lock and Sophie. Jane told her father about Sherlock raising their five children, about him telling the twins stories before going to bed and helping Lock with the violin or taking Sophia to her drama lessons and going to watch Hamish playing football at school. Jane told her father he always saw a lot of him on Sherlock - and that she believed the detective was indeed the best father ever.

Jane smiled when she said she remembered all the tips Mrs Hudson had given her years ago when Locky or Hamish were feverish and sometimes medicines were not useful. And she also said that she had tried some knitting when she was pregnant and expecting the twins but that she couldn't even knit a small scarf because she clearly would never had the patience and the strength needed. Years ago Mrs Hudson told Jane knitting was an art only few people could master. Knitting did not only imply sitting the whole day until you've got a scarf, a jumper or a nice cardigan. Knitting was the art of doing something for your loved ones - creating something to keep the people you love warm and safe.

"There are nights I don't sleep at all when the twins cry or when Sophie wakes up saying there's a monster under her bed but," Jane smiled to her old landlady's grave, the woman who had been like a mother to her. "I love them."

But Jane was leaving the cemetery when she came across Sebastian Moran's grave.

Sebastian Moran, under the fake name of 'Matthew Morstan', made her fall for him and he was her partner for almost three years when she believed Sherlock was dead. He was the father of the baby Jane lost and he died in Jane's arms - after she had shot him in the chest only to save Sherlock and Sophie.

It was the first time Jane was visiting Moran's grave in more than three years.

Jane's eyes fell on the grave. It was dusty and next to it were Sebastian's family graves: Anna, Oliver and Josephine's, the former his wife and the other two had been his children who died in a car accident. Jane knelt in front of Moran's grave and, using a tissue, she cleaned it a bit.

"Sophie's four," Jane whispered. "She likes to wear a princess costume and run all around the flat. She says she wants to be an actress." She licked her lips. "She doesn't remember you and Hamish and Lock barely speak about you... I prefer it that way."

Jane knew she probably shouldn't be there.

Because there was a contradiction.

She didn't know how to feel about that man who was buried six feet under. Sebastian Moran, or Matthew Morstan as she preferred to remember him, made her very happy when she believed she had lost everything when Sherlock died. He gave her a family again, he loved her - yes, even when he came close to her to kill her and her children - he made a different call and he loved her. He died in her arms admitting he loved her with all his heart. Morstan helped her to raise her children when she thought Sherlock was dead, he helped her to recover the self esteem she had lost and he was tender, loving. Jane knew that those moments they shared together when he kissed her lips, told her he loved her and that she was the best thing that had happened to him after his family's deaths - Jane knew he wasn't lying.

And Jane knew that Sebastian Moran had also caused too much damage. He killed lots of people and there was no justification. Jane just couldn't defend him even when if she wanted to. He killed Mrs Hudson, her mother Suzanne and her sister Harry and he was about to kill Sherlock and Sophia as well. Jane also knew Moran had been involved in Hamish's cardiac arrest and that he initially wanted to kill her and her children.

Jane, in her own thoughts, called him 'Matthew' when she remembered the nice moments they had had together. But then she called him 'Sebastian' when she remembered he had killed her family and all the people she loved. But Jane didn't forget Sebastian Moran gave her one child - that baby who died inside her so Jane knew that she would never forget him because even when he committed all those murders, he had protected her. He had taken her in his arms and he had protected her from harm until he was the one who hurt her.

"I wonder if..." Jane said. "I wonder if you've seen our baby." Jane blinked and tears rolled down her eyes. "I know it was a baby girl. It was, wasn't it? She would be three if she..." Jane gasped. "She would be three if she hadn't died."

For some unknown reason Jane just knew she would never be there again. She knew it was the last time she would be in front of that grave, in front of Sebastian Moran's grave.

And their child's.

Because when she killed him, she asked Mycroft to bury him next to his family who had died years before they met, and with the baby she had lost - the baby she and 'Matthew' had conceived but died inside her.

"Wherever you are now I just... I just want you to know that even when you killed the most important people in my life..." Jane whispered as she wiped the tears off her face. "You'll always be the father of my baby and I can't change that. So I'll never forget you and the time we spent together. And you, baby," she smiled bitterly. "I'll always remember you. You'll be always in my heart."

Jane walked a few steps back and licked her thin lips, nervously, but miserably. "Goodbye, Matthew," an then she remembered seeing that little thing when she had the miscarriage. "Goodbye, baby."

* * *

 

When Jane returned home after completing her shift at Bart's she found Sherlock feeding their children take away and the twins their bottle. It was funny to see the three children eating together from one plate, practically fighting for the food and Sherlock holding the twins - David in his left arm and Benedict in his right. And it was also funny to see Sherlock struggling because Benedict started crying and David was calmly sleeping.

"I'll take David to his cot."

"You're not eating?" Sherlock asked.

She faked a smile. "I'm not really hungry," she held one of the twins in her arms. "I went to the cemetery today."

"Oh."

"Left flowers at my family's and Mrs Hudson's graves," Jane said quietly so the children wouldn't listen.

Sherlock looked at her and continued rocking Benedict to sleep.

He had already seen everything he needed to know Jane was lying.

Once all the children were in bed sleeping and the twins were in their cot, Jane lay next to Sherlock on their bed and tossed to him. The detective was lying on his side with his back to her. She slid a hand under his tee, caressed his stomach and his chest and pressed soft kisses to his neck. Usually Sherlock would be responsive but this time he remained silent and still.

"Sherlock?" Jane whispered to his ear and sucked his earlobe suggestively. "Make love to me."

Nothing.

Jane wrapped her slender fingers around his flaccid cock and stroked it softly, expecting a reaction. The detective moved her hand off his body a made a sound of disgust.

"Sweetheart," Jane pressed more kisses to his hairline and his jaw. "Sherlock..." She called his name. "Not in the mood tonight?"

"No," he replied.

Jane rested her head on the pillow and closed her eyes. She was about to fall asleep when Sherlock tossed to face her.

"Why you lied?"

"What?"

"You heard me," Sherlock said bluntly. "Don't make me repeat myself."

Jane sat on the bed. "I don't understand -"

"Why you didn't mention you visited Sebastian Moran's grave?"

Oh.

Not this again.

"Sherlock -"

The detective mimicked his movements and sat next to her. "You still have feelings for him? Is that so? That's the reason why you went to his grave?" Sherlock's eyes were on her. They were dark. "And you cried."

She closed her eyes. "I'm not going to lay here and listen to this." Jane left the bed and looked for her dressing gown and her slippers.

"Where you're going?"

"Living room."

"Oh, so you're going to sleep on the sofa to make me feel guilty for asking?" Sherlock asked sarcastically. "You're not going anywhere until you tell me me why you visited _his_ grave!"

David woke up at Sherlock's yelling.

Jane took the baby in her arms and rocked him softly so he would stop crying. "Hush, David, it's OK sweet-"

"Buah!"

"Tell me why you went to his grave!" Sherlock yelled at her.

And David's crying got worse.

Jane, with David in her left arm took Benedict with her right and walked to the door.

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked, his eyes wide.

She left the room without saying a word because she knew that if she said something she would probably cry.

Jane placed the twins in the spare cot in the living room where they slept during the day and rocked them to sleep. She went to the kitchen, made herself a cup of tea and sat on the living room alone. She picked up a novel from the bookshelf and read. She read and read for hours and for a moment, she forgot everything that had happened: Sherlock's accusing her of having feelings for the man who almost killed him and for lying. And the hours passed until she closed her eyes. Jane was deeply asleep when she felt a pair of little hands covering her body with an orange blanket.

"What's wrong, sweetheart?" Jane asked rubbing her eyes and seeing it was just three in the morning.

The boy shrugged. "Just came for a glass of water. You OK?"

"Yeah - I was just reading this..." Jane picked up her book and glanced at the cover. "This novel."

"Why aren't you in your bed with Dad?" Lock asked suspiciously. "Why are the twins here?"

Jane faked a smile. "It's nothing. Go back to bed."

"Goodnight, Mum."

"Goodnight, Locky."

**The following day...**

"Mummy?"

"Yes, Locky?"

The boy's eyes danced between his Mummy and his Daddy Sherlock. They were having breakfast all together in the kitchen and Sherlock was not sitting at the table next to Jane as always but leaning against the counter, holding a cup of tea in one hand and talking on the phone with who seemed to be Grandpa Greg.

"Why is Daddy not sitting with us?"

Jane shrugged. "He's got a case, apparently."

She chose not to tell his son the truth and continued feeding David his morning bottle whilst Benedict was calmly playing with his toys in his play pen. Sophie and Hamish continued drinking their milk and eating their cereals but Locky knew something was wrong. He knew his Daddy Sherlock was merely present in the kitchen and drinking tea because of them. Locky had seen his mother preparing breakfast and then his father walking into the kitchen, saying good morning to all of them but not to Jane and he had also seen his Mummy sleeping in the sofa and not in her room with his Daddy.

They had a fight then.

"Daddy, sit with me!" Sophie said. "Have breakfast with me!"

The detective picked up his coat. "I've been called to work on a case," he said. "Will be back late."

"Bye Dad!" Hamish said.

Sophie kissed his cheek. "Bye bye, Daddy!"

"Bye!" Lock said.

Sherlock bent down and pressed a kiss to Benedict's head and then to David's, who was in Jane's arms, and left. He said goodbye to all of them but to Jane. Sherlock kissed all of them but Jane.

* * *

The case turned out to be extremely boring and disappointing and Sherlock didn't want to go home, even when he knew it was Jane's day off and the children would all be at school. The detective usually didn't work when it was Jane's day off because he preferred to stay home with her rather than chasing criminals.

Being absent for three years made Sherlock feel he couldn't live a day without Jane. Not any more.

And God, he hated the idea of Jane thinking in him, in Sebastian Moran. Just thinking she had visited his grave made Sherlock feel sick. He could not understand what she had done there, why she had taken flowers to his grave and what she could have possibly said.

The detective understood she thought he was 'Matthew Morstan', that three years together she 'loved' Moran because she thought him dead and she had all the right to rebuild her life. But Sherlock had to see them kissing, he had to see Moran touching her, taking her hand, raising his children and even giving Jane one, Sophia, who now was his daughter. The detective had to see Jane even carrying Sebastian Moran's child and he even believed they would never be together again. It hurt to see his children calling that man 'Daddy' and loving him as such. But it also hurt to listen to them having sex, to Moran possessing Jane and taking everything from her.

Sherlock couldn't understand how Jane could feel something for that man who initially wanted to kill her and their children, who killed her mother and sister, Mrs Hudson who had been like a mother to them and he had also been behind Hamish's cardiac arrest. Sherlock just couldn't understand it.

When the detective returned late that night all the children and even the twins were sleeping but Jane, who was sitting in the living room, wearing her nightdress, wrapped on her dressing gown and studying.

"There's food on the table," she said without meeting his eyes, focused on her books.

She cooked pasta for him, just how he liked. The food was still hot and there was a glass of the wine he liked. Sherlock sat at the kitchen table and ate alone. The entire flat was silent. He looked up and saw Jane writing, reading, consulting different books and typing in her computer. Jane was already a doctor and she possessed a degree but she was always reading and consulting books as if she was still a student.

Sherlock knew they _needed_ to talk. They couldn't just keep on like this - without talking to each other, with Jane sleeping on the sofa. They just couldn't.

The detective's thoughts were interrupted when one of the babies started crying. Jane walked rapidly past him and returned seconds later with Benedict in her arms. She sat with him on her chair in the living room and rocked him softly until he stopped crying. "What's wrong, Benny?"

Baby Benedict pressed his little hand to her breasts.

"No, Mummy has no milk," Jane whispered. "You're hungry then? I'll make you a bottle."

Jane went to the kitchen to prepare her son a bottle. "Please hold him for a bit."

Sherlock held Benedict in his arms whilst Jane prepared the bottle. In the brief moment when Jane bent down to hand Benedict to him he looked at her eyes. Jane had bloodshot eyes not because she was tired but because she had been crying.

Once the bottle was made, Jane took Benedict in her arms again.

"I can feed him."

"Don't worry."

"But you need to read."

"Don't worry," Jane repeated. "I fed Hamish and studied at the same time. I can do it again."

It hurt.

That memory hurt.

The following morning Jane prepared all her children breakfast and helped them to get ready to go to school.

"Mummy, why are you taking us to school?" Lock asked.

Jane helped him with his coat. "Why you ask?"

"Daddy always takes us to school," Sophie said.

"Yes," Jane nodded. "But your father is very tired and he needs to sleep."

"Mum, you and Dad had a fight?"

"No."

Locky looked at her.

There was no point in lying to Locky. He was a mini Sherlock and he could tell when people lied. The boy had powerful deductive skills and Jane knew she would never be able to hide a thing from him.

"You've slept on the sofa two nights in a row," Locky pointed out. "You're wearing the same clothes you had yesterday - you don't even want to go to your room," the boy deduced and narrowed his eyes. "Even the twins sleep in the living room and you've got bags under your eyes, partially because of the lack of sleep but also because you've been crying -"

"OK, yes, we had a fight -"

"Aw, so you and Daddy are angry?" Sophia asked, sad. "I don't want you to be angry."

"Just," Jane exhaled. "Everything's going to be all right. I promise."

In the cab Locky took his Mummy's hand. "I'm sorry, Mummy."

"What for?"

"For deducing things about you. It's just..." the boy seemed close to tears. "I can't stop it. It's in my head all the time."

Jane caressed her son's dark curls that made him look a lot like his father. "It's OK, sweetheart. Don't worry."

"But you and Dad will be all right, won't you? You won't get a divorce... right?"

"Everything's going to be all right. Don't worry. We'd never divorce," Jane smiled. "We love each other too much to do that."

 

* * *

 

Once Jane left Hamish and Lock in school and Sophie in nursery, she went to the park with the twins. It was a sunny day, slightly warm and not cold. She found a nice place under a tree where she put a blanket for the twins to sit on and she sat next to them. She pulled her book out her bag and read while the twins were sitting close to her and playing with their toys.

Jane remembered the days she studied with Hamish. He was so little and she had just been given a scholarship so she knew she had to study very hard to keep it. She needed that scholarship to study and Hamish was the most calm baby in the world. She remembered studying in a park whilst Hamish played with his toys. She was alone. She was a single mum, proud, but sad to be alone.

And now she was not alone. She had another four children and a husband.

A husband who didn't believe in her. In her feelings.

"What is it, Benny?" Jane asked when the little boy snuggled close to her. "Miss Daddy?"

The boy nodded slightly.

"Yeah, I miss him too," she looked at her watch. They still had a few hours until she had to pick the boys from school and Sophia from nursery. "Where could we go, uh? We could go to Trafalgar Square and to the museum or maybe to church?"

None of the twins said a word because they couldn't speak yet.

Jane walked and walked around London for hours with the twins calmly sitting in their pushchairs. In every street an old lady stopped and smiled at the sight of two small twins, dressing in matching clothes, sitting together and sharing a toy. Then, Jane stopped at a nice tea shop where she drank some tea and fed the twins. For a moment she considered going and paying Greg a visit at the NSY but she knew Sherlock would probably be there.

"I can't just avoid your father, can I?" Jane asked, her eyes on her babies. "I'll talk to him tonight. I promise."

Both twins stared at her incredulously.

"We won't divorce, that's for sure," Jane whispered. "I mean... we'd gone through worse," she bit her lip and exhaled softly. "Yep, we'd definitely gone through worse. This can't just finish with our marriage, can it?"

David smiled to his mummy.

Jane smiled at him. "Talking to you about my marriage problems," she giggled. "I think I should see a therapist."

"Mummy..." David babbled.

Benedict giggled. "Mummy!"

"Yep, definitely a therapist," Jane sighed. "Let's go. There's a place I'd like to show you."

Jane decided to take the boys to a church. But not to any church.

She took the twins to the church where she and Sherlock got married, for the first time, ten years ago, when they were seventeen, she was expecting Hamish and Sherlock was her friend.

"I got married to your father here," Jane said to them. "Our first wedding..." she said remembering. "We were so young."

Jane sat inside and the twins were in their pushchairs. Jane looked at the place remembering that day, how nervous she was, how handsome Sherlock looked and she even remembered walking down the aisle with her father. Captain John Watson kissed Jane and made Sherlock promise he was going to take care of her. Sherlock promised he was going to look after her and that he was going to protect her - Always.

Sherlock held Jane's hands.

_"Jane Watson, will you have this man to be your husband; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love him, comfort him, honour and keep him, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"_

Jane looked into Sherlock's eyes. Her blue eyes were full of tears as she nodded. _"Yes, I will."_

The priest turned to face Sherlock. _"And you, Sherlock Holmes, will you have this woman to be your wife; to live together in the covenant of marriage? Will you love her, comfort her, honour and keep her, in sickness and in health; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"_

Sherlock nodded, still looking at Jane and the little tears falling down her eyes. _"Yes, I will."_

Neither of them hesitated. Jane's hands were shaking, but Sherlock's grip was tight and somehow reassuring while the old priest blessed the rings placed in front of them. Jane cried even more when Sherlock put her on the gold ring. Both families considered she was excited, happy. Both friends knew they were just playing a role.

When the priest told Sherlock he could kiss his wife, Jane smiled at him, sadly, and he kissed her cheek, just as he had done in the civil ceremony. They walked outside the church, got inside a car and went back to the Holmes' house where a family meal had been arranged as a little something to celebrate their marriage.

When they were asked why they didn't kiss, both Jane and Sherlock said they weren't going to kiss in front of their parents.

"It's been ten years," Jane said, her eyes on the twins. "God, _ten_ years."

"Indeed."

She looked to her left side. It was Sherlock.

The detective sat next to her and held her hand.

"Ten years," he repeated. "Given the chance of going back in time, would you marry me again?"

Jane looked at the altar and remembered themselves standing there, saying their vows, exchanging the rings and pretending they were a couple in love and that the baby inside her was Sherlock's.

"I could have stood up for Hamish... fight for him and not to have an abortion - but if I hadn't asked you to help me, Hamish wouldn't be your son... maybe we would have ended up together later in our lives." She laced her fingers with Sherlock's. "Given the chance of going back in time I'd choose you again. Always." She blinked and a single tear rolled down her eye. "And what about you? Would you marry me again?"

Sherlock didn't even hesitate. "Yes." the detective kissed her hand, her wedding ring to be more exact, and wiped the tear off her face. "Because you were the first and the only woman I'd ever love."

"I love you, Sherlock. You're the only man I have feelings for," Jane whispered. "You know it."

He nodded. "I'm sorry."

"We've gone through worse, Sherlock. I don't think we have to talk about it -"

"The drugs, me hurting you and Hamish, my fake death."

Jane nodded. It had been long years since they last talked about it, about their dark moments, about the tears they both cried and about the years they had been apart.

"But we need to talk about this. We can't just keep on like this, Sherlock," Jane whispered. "It's not good for us and for the children."

Sherlock merely nodded.

"There's something I've never told you," Jane said softly. "The... the baby I lost is buried there with him."

"What? The detective said hoarsely.

Jane nodded and tears were already in her eyes. "He was her father, Sherlock."

Of course. Sherlock forgot that - he forgot that detail which was not little but hugely important. Sebastian Moran was the father of her baby.

"I was almost three months pregnant when I lost her," she cried. "It was a baby girl. I know it was."

Sherlock remained silent.

"I know all the things he did," Jane said between tears. "And even when 'Matthew Morstan' never existed... he didn't lie when he cried because of our baby girl. I know he suffered as much as I did."

"I can't understand you."

"You don't need to."

"Yes I do!" The detective looked into her eyes. "His men left the scars I have on my body, he killed your family, and Mrs Hudson who was like a mother to you... He planned to kill you and our children and you buried your baby with him?"

Jane nodded.

"What do you feel for him?"

Jane shrugged. "I can't... I think I'll never forget him and the time we spend together." She said miserably. "And the baby who died inside me."

"You loved him."

"No," Jane said hoarsely. "Not like I love you. Not like he wanted me to. But I cared for him," she admitted. "And even if when it was an accident, something I never planned or asked for, we had a baby... she died but... we had a baby. I know you can't understand this, Sherlock. Losing a baby hurts. You can't imagine how much we cried, how much it hurt _us_."

"How did it happen?"

"The doctors said there was something wrong with the foetus and consequently, well, I had a miscarriage. The only thing I know is that I was feeling sick and then I was just bleeding. But I..." she licked her lips nervously. "I think I always knew I was pregnant. I just didn't want to see it."

Sherlock's grip on her hand tightened. "Why?"

"I wanted you," she confessed. "I thought that having his child would tie me to him forever and I just carried on with my life, even when I had nauseas, I missed my periods, when I had all the symptoms and I just ignored it, I didn't want to see it." Jane looked at him. "I was reckless and she died inside me."

"It wasn't your fault."

"If she hadn't died inside me... would you have wanted her? Would you have loved her as you love our children?"

Sherlock's expression softened. "Of course."

"She was Moran's daughter."

"I wouldn't have cared," the detective admitted. "Because she was your daughter. She was a part of you. And I love every single part of you," Sherlock kissed her lips softly. "I love you."

"I love you too, Sherlock," she cupped his face and pressed a soft kiss to his pink lips. "I love you."

"I'm sorry for thinking wrong of you. For the things I said, for how I treated you."

She smiled. "It's all right. I'm glad we're fine again."

"I won't forbid you from visiting his grave. Not when your baby is there."

Jane said nothing but threw her arms around Sherlock's neck.

"Marry me again."

"What?!"

"Look, the priest's here," Sherlock took her hand and walked to the altar, also with the twins in their pushchairs. "We want to get married again."

The priest looked at them. "I beg your pardon?"

"He's not being serious -"

"Yes, I am," Sherlock said, cutting Jane off. "We want to get married again, renew our vows, whatever you want to call it."

"Is that true?"the priest asked to Jane.

She looked at Sherlock and nodded.

"Well, I can't marry you again. I need some papers and -"

"I'll give you a cheque with a generous amount of money for your church if you marry us now, bless the rings or do something of the sort." Sherlock said, pulling his wallet and a pen off his pocket.

"I'm sorry, please," Jane said to the priest. "He's not good with people." She turned to Sherlock. "Sherlock! We're not even properly dressed and the kids -"

He silenced her with a kiss. "Jane Watson, would you marry me again?"

"Oh, God, yes!"

**One hour later...**

Hamish offered his arm and Jane twined their arms.

"Ready, Mum?"

Jane nodded. "Yes."

Jane was holding the flowers Sophia choose for her. She was wearing a pair of blue jeans, brown shoes and a baggy blue striped jumper. Her hair was lose and she was also wearing pink lip gloss. They had no time to go home and change their clothes. They picked the children from school and went straight back to the church where they told Hamish, Lock and Sophie they were renewing their vows and wanted them to be present and be the witnesses.

Jane walked down the aisle with Hamish. Sitting at the front were Lock and Sophie and the twins who were sitting in the pushchairs and no one else.

At the altar was the priest and Sherlock Holmes waiting for her.

Once they at the altar, Hamish kissed his Mummy's cheek.

"Ten years ago you were still here with us," Jane said with a smile and hugged her son.

He smiled. "I know," and then turned to his father. "Take care of her."

The same words his Grandfather John Hamish Watson said the day of their wedding ten years ago.

"Always," Sherlock replied and held Jane's hand.

"As you're already husband and wife, I merely blessed your rings," the priest said. "Where are they?"

Lock walked to the altar and gave his Daddy his Mummy Jane's ring. Then Sophia walked towards his Mummy and gave her his Daddy Sherlock's ring.

"I, Jane Watson, promise to love you forever. I'll comfort you, honour you and keep you in sickness and in health... always," she licked her lips, her blue eyes' on Sherlock's. "I just want you to know that in front of our children I promise to be with you forever. You're the love of my life and I'll always love you." Jane said and put the ring on Sherlock's ring finger.

Sherlock smiled. "I, Sherlock Holmes, with our children Hamish, Sherlock, Sophia, Benedict and David present here with us, I promise to protect you, look after you, provide you with everything you need and to..." He took a deep breath and smiled. "I promise not to ever hurt you again. I shall always respect you as my wife, mother of my children, my lover and friend." The detective put the ring on her ring finger and stroked her slender hand. "I will always love you. Always."

Hamish, Locky, Sophie and the twins stared at the scene before them and smiled. Because that was all they could do, smile and witness the love their parents had for each other. They were all little to understand how love worked, but they were sure their parents loved each other deeply.

"You've renewed your wedding vows and you are husband and wife," the priest smiled and turned to the detective. "You may kiss the bride."

When they married ten years ago, Sherlock kissed Jane's cheek softly, almost awkwardly and shyly. Ten years later he placed his hands on Jane's waist and kissed her passionately until she went breathless.

Ten years ago, they didn't have a wedding night. Ten years later they made love as if there was no tomorrow. They loved each other almost all night long until they had no more strength left.

"I love you," Sherlock said moving off her but taking her in his arms and pressing soft kisses to her body. "God, I love you."

She smiled and buried her face into his chest, breathing his scent in, kissing his skin as she felt Sherlock's lips on her body. "I love you, Sherlock."

 


	9. The First

The first child leaving home was Hamish.

When he turned eighteen Hamish said he wanted to be a doctor and enrolled in an university in the north - far away from London. Why going so far when there were plenty of universities close home? When asked whether he was living in some uni accommodations, Hamish confessed he was moving in with his former girlfriend Janine.

The detective was in the kitchen doing an strange experiment involving acids and some toes because apparently he was 'bored' when he heard a conversation between his wife and his eldest son. Something about using protection and priorities.

"You were my age when I was born."

"I was younger than you. I was seventeen," Jane said. "A few months away from eighteen. I was a child. And it was not easy."

"But... We're together," Sherlock heard his son saying. "Janine and I, we're solid and... We've got money."

"I know you two love each other, that you have money and all. But you're still very young. And I don't want you to go through the same - You still have to grown, Hamish. And I want you to enjoy your life -"

"I know what you mean, but you're saying it as if I was something that ruined your life."

Sherlock stopped experimenting and frowned worriedly.

"You never ruined my life. You made it better," the detective heard his wife saying. "But you and I... we grew up together. I was alone, I had no idea how to make a bottle or change nappies and I just had you."

Sherlock remained silent and listened.

"If you and Janine want to get married and have a family, you'll have all our support," Jane said tenderly. "But think you're eighteen, so does Janine and you still have lots of things to do. My mother made me marry Sherlock," Jane said. "And now I look back and I can't understand how she let that happen. I was seventeen - a child. If it ever happened to Sophia, I'd never do what my mother did."

"What's that suppose to mean?" Sherlock asked, stepping into the living room, his eyes on his wife.

"We were seventeen, Sherlock. _Seventeen_."

"So?"

Jane shook her head. "She only accepted because of your wealth and your parents agreed even when they thought I was with you purely for your money because of appearances."

That was awfully true.

"Mum, I know how things work."

"I also knew how things worked and I let _him_ have unprotected sex with me," Jane bit her lip. "He said he will pull out before ejaculating and here you are."

Hamish went speechless.

No one, not him, not even Sherlock were expecting such confession.

"And then you were born, we were alone, I had no idea of what to do when you cried..." Jane held her son's hand and smiled at him tenderly. "I don't want you to feel that. To feel desperate, alone. You're far too young to look after a baby of your own."

"You still sound as if I was a mistake."

"You're not," Jane said firmly. "You're my baby. And I don't want you to suffer, OK? I promise we'll always be here for you."

The following day, when Hamish left Baker Street and got into a train with his girlfriend, Jane and Sherlock walked back home holding hands, remembering the day they saw Hamish for the first time in her first ultrasound.

"You think he'll be OK?"

Sherlock's grip on her hand tightened. "Stop worrying."

"He's the first leaving," Jane whispered. "Then Lock will go... then Sophie and finally the twins."

"He left to grow up," Sherlock said, smiling at her. "Our son will be OK."

* * *

 

The first time Sherlock was called by the headmaster because of Lock, the boy was fifteen and he was involved in some fight. The detective was working on a case, Lestrade was being annoying and he had already pick pocketed him three times in a row but and the moment he was told his son was involved in a fight - that apparently he only got one bruised eye and the other three boys of his same class got broken noses and one a broken wrist, Sherlock knew something very, very wrong happened.

Jane was at Bart's working so Sherlock went alone. The moment he arrived, he found his son sitting on a chair, tapping his fingers on his knee, somehow nervously, somehow eagerly waiting for him to pick him up. He had a bruised eye and nothing else.

Good fighter?

It seemed so.

According to the three other boys, Lock insulted them. According to Lock they were being annoying and stupid. And according to the headmaster the three boys, including Lock, were getting one week with no classes but with lots of homework. Sherlock, trying to defend his son, because by just looking at him he knew Lock was not the one to blame, he asked him what exactly had happened.

Lock refused to talk about it and accepted the punishment gladly.

That was odd.

"What happened?"

"I don't want to talk about it."

"I do," Sherlock said firmly and watched his son tossing his bag to the floor carelessly and throwing himself onto his bed. "This is the last time I'm repeating myself. What happened?"

Lock, aged fifteen now, was nothing like he used to be as a child, when he was two years old when Sherlock met him. He used to be shy and calm, quiet, he barely spoke and Jane was worried he could suffer from developmental delay or something. But Lock was four when he taught himself how to read and since then he was unstoppable. He spoke all the time. When he turned five his father got him a violin and he shut his mouth but the sounds, instead of coming from his mouth, came from his soft hands playing the violin. He was extremely intelligent and clever, very, very, very clever but he wouldn't hesitate if he had to swear in front of his parents or something. Sometimes the only one capable of providing him any calmness and advice was Hamish, whom Lock considered was his hero. Lock and Hamish were very close. But there was something missing. Sherlock knew he was missing something.

What was it?

"They were stupid," the boy said absent-mindedly.

"I don't hit every stupid person I know."

"Because they don't _bully_ you."

Oh.

"What did they say?"

"Nothing."

"Lock -"

"I don't want to talk about it Dad," Lock said tossing on his bed giving his back to his father and clearly sulking.

The detective sighed to himself and let his eyes travel around his surroundings, on his son's room. It had been a while since he had last been there - not because he didn't want to but because he knew Lock wanted to have his privacy. Since Hamish left to university Lock had the room upstairs for himself and barely let anyone get in, unless you knocked and gave a reasonable reason as to why you needed to be there.

There was a desk close to the door and a pile of chemistry books piled over it. Some framed photographs of Lock with his friends, with his brothers, with Sophie, with his cousin Tim, some with his grandparents and some with him and Jane. There was a map hanging one the wall with wild bees habitats and travel routes marked and a small bookcase and behind fat books and dictionaries Sherlock found a porn magazine.

Quite a stupid place to hide porn.

"Why you bought this?" Sherlock asked holding the porn magazine in his hands and looking at it.

Lock turned and far from panicking, he just rolled his eyes and waved his hand. "Experiment."

Sherlock opened the magazine and glanced at it. It was quite a porn magazine, the detective had to agree with that. It was filled with pictures of naked women and men, some of them performing sex in every known position and very well written articles about genitalia, sexual practices and 'toys'.

"You have your own computer. I believe videos are most..." the detective raised an eyebrow. "'pedagogical' rather pictures of sexual positions that -"

And then the detective noticed the most pictures his son had looked at were not the ones with naked women only but the ones with naked men.

Sherlock wondered why children don't come with a textbook when they are born. Being a parent was so difficult. And Lock was not his only son. There were four more, one was in uni, but still. The detective knew this was not going to be a talk about sex and where do babies come from or how they are made. But no one teaches you how to be a parent, let alone how to deal with situations like this one, when you have just realised your own son is gay.

"They bullied you because of your sexuality."

"They called me _'faggot'_ ," Lock said angrily, yet he looked quite calm, lying on his back on the bed, his hands clasped together under his chin. "Among 'queer', 'homo', 'poof', 'friend of Dorothy', 'Mary' and I shall quote 'Sherlock Watson-Holmes likes to take it up the arse'." For a moment Lock said no word when he blinked and a tear rolled down his cheek. He breathed and looked at his father. "I hit them because they were stupid."

"There is nothing wrong with homosexuality," Sherlock said softly, sitting next to his son.

"Of curse there isn't. I'm not stupid."

No, of course he wasn't.

And then, it was clear the boy was, somehow, fearful of what could come next. Implicitly, without even saying it out loud, Lock had just admitted he was gay - that he just liked boys.

"No one will be angry at you."

"Yes you will!" Lock burst into tears. "You _are_!"

"I'm not angry with you because you're gay," Sherlock said softly. "I'm... surprised."

Surprised was the proper word.

The boy rolled his eyes. "It was obvious, Dad. I assumed you and Mum knew."

Yes.

It had always been obvious. Lock had never been interested in girls and while Sherlock had been the same, they could see Lock was different. Sherlock didn't like girls because they were noisy, stupid and well, he had never been so interested in girls until Jane came along, but Lock was different. The cliché of gay boys being bad at sports... Lock was amazingly good at sports, specially football, like all his brothers. But all his friends liked girls cheer them on and Lock liked boys. Sherlock had seen Lock staring at men - but he thought it was merely observation.

He had been so wrong.

"We don't spend our days deducing whether you like boys or if your sister has already given her first kiss -"

"She didn't."

"She'd better," Sherlock said. "Those are private things - _your_ things. I don't deduce them."

Lock bit his lip. "You deduced when Hamish lost his virginity."

"That's because I didn't want him to impregnate the first girl he slept with."

The boy wiped the tears off his face. "I just... I don't understand why people think liking someone from the same gender is wrong."

"That's because they are stupid."

"I don't insult them because they like women," he pulled a face. "They are disgusting." The boy sat next to his father and took the magazine off his hands. He opened it and looked at a picture of a naked woman. "It's just... breasts are... aren't they weird?"

It was a rhetorical question.

Sherlock tilted his head and looked at the picture his son was looking at. The woman had pleasant breasts - just to look at, obviously. "They are rather enjoyable -"

"Too much information!"

"I'm not going to ask you for how long have you know you are -"

"Always."

Too much information there.

Maybe.

"Just..." The detective's eyes were on the roof and then on his son's. "No one's angry at you because of who you are. Your mother and I'll always love you independently of your sexual orientation."

Lock blushed and nodded silently.

"And don't ever let anyone make you feel inferior because of your sexuality," Sherlock told his son tenderly. "You are no less than anyone else. Am I clear?"

Another nod. "Will you tell Mum?"

"If you want me to. Though I believe that's something you ought to tell her yourself."

"Hamish knows."

Of course. "You miss him."

"He always understood," Lock said, somehow nostalgically. "He said there was nothing wrong with me."

Sherlock smiled at him and placed an arm around his thin shoulders. "There's nothing wrong with you Locky."

"I'm not a baby!"

"But you loved to be called 'Locky'." Sherlock kissed his son's dark curls. "And to be cuddled and bottle-feed, remember?"

Lock smiled widely. He pretended to hate it, but in fact, he loved it when he heard stories of him and his father, and being remembered the fact he had used a bottle until he was four.

When Lock told Jane, she was not surprised. Though she didn't say 'I knew it', the teenager knew that very deep his mother had always known. Both parents assured their child they would never love him less because of his choices.

Lock also told his brothers and his sister too, though privately. Sophie told him she loved him no matter what and the twins the same. However, Benedict, who possessed quite a blunt personality, asked Hamish if he had ever kissed and touched a boy.

"Benedict!" Jane scolded him. "One more comment about that and you're grounded!"

"But if he says he's gay he must have already tried, right, Lock?"

The boy had to hide a smile. "Not your business."

Jane nodded. "Come on you two, go to bed."

Once the twins were in bed, Sherlock broke the silence between him, his son and Jane when realisation hit him. "You're seeing someone."

Lock bit his lip, slightly nervous. "That's private."

Silence fell upon them again.

"You can, you know, uh..." Jane smiled. "Bring him. If you want."

"OK."

Silence again.

"Are you taking precautions?" Jane asked. "I mean... are you, uh, being careful with... you know."

Lock had to try very hard not to laugh. "I'm a man. As far as I know I can't get pregnant. Neither can he."

"Be careful with STD."

"I am."

Silence.

"Are you sexually active?" Sherlock asked.

"That means he can deactivate someday?" Benedict asked.

"What are you -" Jane frowned. "You were listening?"

Benedict ignored his parents and sat next to his brother. "How can you like boys? That's weird."

"Is not weird," Lock replied. "It's just... different from what people consider is 'normal'."

"You won't have babies."

"I don't want to have babies."

Benedict turned to his Mum and his Dad. "And if Mum and Dad want grandchildren?"

"Oh," Lock smiled. "Hamish, you, David and Sophie will give them plenty," Lock replied jokingly. "Especially you. You'll have lots of children."

"We are far too young to be grandparents," Sherlock added.

"You have a boyfriend?" Benedict asked, with genuine curiosity.

Lock bit his lip. "I'm seeing someone, yes."

"What's his name?"

"His name is 'go to sleep _now_ '," Jane said. "Come on."

After another long silence Lock decided to go to bed. It had been a long day of confessions and plenty of emotions. Too many for one day.

"Lock."

The boy turned to his mother. "Hmm?"

"I know it's your life and well, I don't know if you have already... uh, just, wait a bit. You're too little - you're fifteen," Jane said.

Lock smiled. "I'm not sexually active."

"Just... wait till you're sixteen or seventeen or..."

"Calm down, I'm not ready yet," Lock assured his mother and turned to his father. "I just hope you don't deduce when I lose my virginity just like you did with Hamish."

The detective chuckled.

"I love you, son," Jane said fondly, kissing her son's forehead.

"I love you too, Mum."

The detective patted his son's back softly. "I love you. And remember what I said: don't ever let anyone tell you you're less because of who you are."

"Thanks, Dad."

* * *

 

"Daddy!"

Sophie threw her arms around his neck and hugged him tightly.

"What happened? Are you hurt?"

"I got it, Daddy!" Sophia said with a smile.

Sherlock frowned. "Be more specific."

"I'm 'Juliet'!"

"Juliet?"

"Yes," she said going through her things in her school bag until she found what was looking for. "I'll be 'Juliet' in 'Romeo and Juliet'!"

For weeks Sophia not only focused on school and her drama lessons but in the school play as well. For two months exactly she studied the adapted script written by the drama teacher of her school and she even assisted to all the rehearsals. At home she read the script with Sherlock and he helped her to practice. Her Uncle Mycroft helped her with her speech and her grandparents made themselves sure she had a special person to help her create the perfect dress for the play.

"Russia?"

"Belarus," the detective corrected his daughter.

Sophia pouted. "But it's my debut next week!"

"I know. I'll come back to see you."

"You sure?"

He nodded.

"Please, Daddy," she buried her face into his chest. "Please, please, please. Promise me you'll see me!"

Sherlock smiled and kissed his daughter's head. "I promise, Princess."

* * *

"Mum, is Dad coming?" Hamish asked, seeing the school theatre was full of people and the play was about to start.

Jane checked she had no missing calls or texts. It was Sophia's début - her first play - and she was playing one of the two main characters, 'Juliet' in 'Romeo and Juliet'. The play was directed by Mr. Hitch, the Drama teacher of Sophie's school and organised by senior students. In an open casting for Juliet Sophie was chosen, becoming the youngest within the cast, being only twelve whilst the boy who played Romeo and the other students were seventeen.

She had been called by Mr. Hitch once to see the rehearsals. Sherlock was in Belarus so Jane went alone. Sophia was amazing. Mr Hitch explained Jane one of the main reasons he had chosen Sophia, even when she was a mere twelve-year-old girl, and when he could have chosen an older girl, was because she looked older to be twelve and because she could perfectly play a very young Juliet who chose death instead of living a life apart from her beloved one, Romeo.

"Mum, Sophia might kill Dad if he doesn't come," Lock said.

"Is Sherlock coming?" Richard, her father-in-law asked worriedly.

Sitting next to him was Mummy Holmes. "Of course he is, isn't he, Jane?"

Jane was sure Sherlock would never forget about their daughter's school play, no.

Behind them was Mycroft, Anthea and Tim. "My brother's current location is still unknown. I have all my men looking for him."

"Oh, Sophie's gonna kill Dad!" Benedict said.

"Unknown?" Greg asked from his seat behind Jane, and next to his now wife. "Wasn't he in Belarus?"

"Mummy, Sophie's going to be really sad if Daddy doesn't come," David told him Mummy Jane. "She wanted Daddy to see her!"

Jane clenched her teeth. She sighed and covered her face with her hands. Of course Sherlock was meant to be there, occupying the empty seat next to her, waiting for their daughter's début, being there in the most important moment of Sophia's life where she was going to be Juliet, where she was going to act in front of the whole school, in front of all her family. And of course that Sherlock was also meant to be working on a case. And as Lock, Benedict and David said, Sophie was probably going to be really sad if Sherlock didn't arrive.

The play started and Sherlock was nowhere to be seen.

Jane glanced at the empty seat next to her and sighed angrily.

The play started. Jane couldn't help but feel proud. Sophia spoke so well, she acted amazingly and you could believe that twelve-year-old girl was Juliet who was dying for Romeo, for that forbidden love she had for him. Sophie looked so beautiful. She was wearing a red velvet dress, long enough and beautiful enough to make her look like a young girl in Shakespeare's days. Sophia's long hair was braided and she was wearing very subtle make up.

And then the balcony scene. Jane had tears in her eyes when Sophia appeared in the balcony, in Juliet's balcony, and engaged herself in a fantasized debate. She questioned the purpose of Romeo's being Romeo. To be Romeo was to be a Montague while to be Juliet was to be a Capulet, and the Montagues and Capulets had a nasty history of killing off one another.

 _"O Romeo, Romeo, wherefore art thou Romeo?_  
 _Deny thy father and refuse thy name;_  
 _Or if thou wilt not, be but sworn my love_ -"

Sophie said with tears in her eyes, suffering for Romeo, her forbidden love. She had to look at the audience and address her dying words of love for Romeo to them. Jane looked at Sophia's eyes looking for Sherlock in between the audience. And for a moment, she went silent. She went silent and Jane panicked. Sophia's eyes were on the empty seat next to her mother when she realised her father was no there, that Sherlock was not there seeing her play.

It hurt.

A tear, that was Juliet's tear, rolled down Sophie's face.

" _And I'll no longer be a Capulet."_

Jane saw the pain behind Sophia's eyes when she found the empty seat next to her.

Sophia was hurt, but she carried on.

Everyone stood on their feet and clapped loudly. The play was a success. Not only the directing of the drama teacher Mr. Hitch, but also the students' work and Sophia's were hugely praised by the school teachers and the parents invited.

"Juliet? You were wonderful, Soph."

Sophia hugged her brother tightly. "Hamish! You came!"

Hamish was attending Uni and he was living with his girlfriend Janine. He had moved out a few months ago and he was studying very hard, as he had some cognitive problems, so he had to study twice to keep up with university level but he was doing splendidly. Hamish barely visited and not because he didn't want to but because he was always studying. He wanted to be a doctor like his mother.

Sophia just couldn't believe his brother had gone to see her.

"You were spectacularly amazing, Princess." Sherlock said, appearing with a bouquet of flowers in his hands and a very proud look on his face.

"Dad?" Sophia looked at him. "I thought you -"

"That I wouldn't come?"

She nodded.

Sherlock walked close to her and placed a long arm around her shoulders and kissed her cheek. "You are a very talented _actress_ , Sophia."

"You think?"

"Of course," the detective smiled just a bit and just for her. "I'm very proud of you, my Princess."

The whole family looked at the scene before them and they couldn't help but smile. They all knew Sherlock was Sophia's hero and her favourite person in the whole world. They had seen her very sad when she thought Sherlock failed her and missed her first play. But now she looked so happy.

"I love you, Daddy." She said with little tears in her eyes.

"I love you too, Princess."

* * *

 

The first time Sherlock took the twins to a crime scene they were merely two years old. Jane was attending a medical conference in Scotland or Dublin, Sherlock couldn't remember, Hamish, Lock and Sophie were at his parents and the twins were with him when Greg called because apparently they, obviously, needed him as always.

"Go back home."

"Why?"

Greg looked at him as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. "They just can't be here! They are babies!"

"Why not?" Sherlock asked. "They are not babies. They are toddlers. And they're sleeping. I've got ten minutes before Benedict -"

Too late.

The twins were sitting in their pushchair. Both had been peacefully sleeping until now.

"Mummy!" Benedict cried.

Sherlock bent down and picked the boy in his arms before he could wake up David. He rocked him in his arms softly until he stopped crying and handed him a bottle from the bag he was carrying.

"There, drink this," Sherlock said placing his child back to his pushchair and turning to Greg. "Where's the body?"

"I'm not going to let you in until you take them away from here."

"I can't. Jane's in Dublin."

"Wasn't it Scotland?"

"It's the same," Sherlock said and took a pair of gloves off a forensic. "My parents took the others to France. Benedict and David are stuck with me," the turned to see Benedict was happily drinking his milk and David was softly snoring. "Now, where's the body?"

Greg sighed and nodded. "Five minutes -"

"I might need ten."

"All right, ten," Greg agreed. "Donovan can look after them -"

"Over my cold corpse. I'm not having my children looked after Donovan," Sherlock snapped.

"Then you can't stay here. Not with them."

"Daddy?"

David woke up.

Sherlock inhaled loudly and then bent down to take a look at the things inside the bag Jane was always telling him to carry when he took the twins out. He pulled out two plastic little dinosaurs and handed one to each of his children. "There, play with them and listen to me carefully: don't leave your pushchairs. Am I clear?" Both twins nodded. "You just move off your pushchairs and I'll take you to Mycroft."

The twins nodded eagerly and continued playing with they plastic dinosaurs calmly.

Just mentioning his brother always worked.

"Done. Where's the body?"

* * *

"What the hell are two babies doing here?" Anderson knelt down to look at the twins closely. "Ah, the Freak's children."

Both David and Benedict stared at the man in front of them in distaste. David smiled, he was quite a lovely child. But Benedict just stuck his tongue out rudely.

"Quite rude children are you. Just like your father," Anderson said looking at them and took the plastic dinosaur off David's hands. "You like dinosaurs, uh?"

David tried to take it back, but Anderson laughed at him and keep it away. "Want your dinosaur back, brat?"

"Mine," David mumbled close to tears. "Give it. Mine!"

Anderson laughed.

Benedict looked at him with angry eyes and hit Anderson with his empty baby bottle.

The twins had a thing for their bottles. They were old for them, but still their parents let them use one. Sherlock said they were far too old to be fed with a bottle while Jane said it was nothing. Sherlock didn't want to go through the same again, when Lock used a bottle until he was four. The detective said they will have problems with their teeth, but Jane said they were going to be OK. The same happened with their dummies. Each had a dummy: Benedict's was green and David's was blue. David was still using one all the time, but Benedict had already got rid of it throwing it to the toilet.

But going back to their bottles, as they were always using one, Jane had got them quite heavy ones, the plastic was hard,very hard and almost unbreakable. So when Benedict hit Anderson on the face with his bottle, the forensic man ended up with a bleeding nose.

"You damn brat!"

"What are you doing?" Sherlock asked taking his gloves off, his eyes on David who was crying and on Benedict who was giggling uncontrollably. "What did you do to my son?"

Anderson pressed a handkerchief to his bleeding nose."Your stupid brat broke my nose!"

Sherlock smiled to Benedict. "What happened?"

"He took David's dinosaw!" Benedict explained. "He bad!"

David sobbed loudly. "My dinosaw!"

The detective found David's plastic dinosaur and give it back to him. "It's OK, don't cry."

David smiled and hugged his dinosaur tightly. "Thank you Daddy!"

Sherlock turned to Anderson. "Keep your useless, dirty hands off my children. Am I clear?"

Once in Baker Street Sherlock heated the food Jane left for him and the twins and sat each one on their high chairs. "You liked working with me?"

Both nodded.

They did nothing really, just watched their father examining what they thought was a sleepy woman (she was dead actually) and then doing something to her nails and finally completing paper work with their Grandpa Greg.

"What you did today was not correct," Sherlock told Benedict between spoonfuls. "You can't hit people with your bottle."

Benedict pouted. "He mean to David."

"You should have told me what Anderson did. But..." the detective smiled fondly to the older of the two twins, Benedict, who was born first. "I'm proud of you."

Benedict smiled.

"Don't like Andweson," David mumbled.

Sherlock laughed. "The feeling is mutual."


	10. Grandparents

"That's stupid!"

"I don't think it's stupid -"

"It's the stupidest thing I've ever heard of," Benedict cut his twin brother off. "Come on Rich!"

Richard frowned. And that was something he did quite a lot every time his grandchildren, especially Sherlock's children - especially the twins - visited.

How come they started calling him by his first name? Richard remembered his own grandfather - Rupert Holmes, a tall white haired man, whose green eyes could look deep into you and who also owned the most severe expression you could find. Had he called his grandfather by his first name, he was sure he would have been slapped.

Children were so different. But times changes, he supposed.

"I would have never dared to call my grandfather by his first name," Richard said as he sipped tea from one of his most expensive, oldest and favourite tea cups. "Do you call your other grandfather by his name?"

Benedict rolled his eyes. "Of course. Greg's cooler than you."

Why was that? "Oh, is he?"

"Yeah, he plays football with us. And take us to the Yard and he even let us see a real jail!" Benedict said. "And handcuffs."

David nodded. "But Grandpa Greg doesn't have an old house like yours."

Old house? His house was not old - it was classic, Victorian. In that same house several generations of Holmes have grown up within its walls. The house was not old.

And Greg was 'cooler' than him just because he was younger.

"Here you go," Elizabeth appeared and placed two big chocolate milkshakes for the twins and a tray with pastries, cookies and cakes of all the sort for them. "Are you enjoying yourselves?"

Benedict merely nodded, already munching on half a big slice of chocolate cake.

"Daddy's old room is so boring," David pointed out. "There are no toys. Just books."

"And we can't play football because Rich here is a stick in the mud," Benedict mumbled still with food in his mouth.

Richard wouldn't play football not because he was a 'stick in the mud' as the children said, but because he couldn't and because he had to use a walking stick.

Elizabeth wanted to laugh. "It is not polite to speak when you are eating," Benedict rolled his eyes. "And you are not allowed to call us by our first names."

"Why?"

"It is disrespectful. Do you call your other grandparents by their names?"

"We call Grandpa Greg 'Greg' sometimes," David said with a shrug.

Benedict nodded. "And we call his wife 'Auntie Annie' because she says she's too young to be called 'Grandma'."

The truth is that Greg got married to a woman who was as young as Jane was. Anna, or 'Annie' as she insisted to be called, was indeed as young as Jane was and she was very sweet and nice. According to Sherlock she was not leaving Lestrade as all his previous girlfriends did and she was willing to give him the children he wanted. Annie got along with everyone in the family, even with Jane, who Greg loved as if she were is real daughter.

"And does Annie prepare you chocolate milkshake and all these sweet things for you?"

Both shook their heads.

No.

"She buys cake and takeaway because she can't cook," David said. "Once she tried but she almost burnt Grandpa Greg's kitchen."

"And does your Grandpa Greg have horses, a big garden and take you abroad on holiday like me?" Richard asked playfully.

Both shook their heads again.

No.

Grandparents, The Holmes', were so different from the other grandparents, The Lestrade's. Grandpa and Grandma Holmes liked to sit, to have tea, to chat about old things, old furniture, old people they didn't know who they were, and so on. For the twins it was funnier to stay at Grandpa Greg and Auntie Annie's because they could drink chocolate milkshake wherever they feel like, in the garden, in the room Greg had always prepared in case one of the children would want to stay at his place. Auntie Annie liked to talk about action films, about music bands, about Doctor Who and so on.

Grandpa Richard liked to drink special tea, play chess and read very, but very fat books. Grandpa Greg liked to drink coffee, and well, he was drinking coffee most of the day. He liked to watch and play football with them, and he was always carrying a gun, a pair of handcuffs (that they had already pick-pocketed from him a couple of times) and he and Auntie Annie liked to buy takeaway rather than having boring food like the one the maids at their other Grandparents' prepared.

Given the chance to choose, both David and Benedict would always prefer to stay at Greg's.

But that didn't mean they loved Richard and Elizabeth less.

On the contrary.

David smiled. "Well, you're cleverer than Grandpa Greg. You know all about everything!"

"Yeah," Benedict agreed. "You're cool, actually."

Both grandparents smiled fondly to their twin grandchildren.

Both remembered the day they were born. It rained as if the sky was about to fall over their heads. Sherlock called very early in the morning and told them Jane was in hospital and that the rest of the children were with their Uncle Mycroft. As soon as they got to the hospital, Jane was already swearing and telling the nurses and doctors to please give her some medications and to have a c-section because she knew she would never be strong enough bring two babies to this world on her own.

They waited expectantly for a long time until their Sherlock appeared carrying two identical babies. One was insanely big and cried far too much - Benedict. The other was smaller and was very calm and barely cried - that was David. Elizabeth remembered holding David in her arms when the little baby curled his very little fingers around hers. Richard remembered holding little Benedict in his arms and saying how he reminded him of Mycroft when he was born.

Then, the years passed and the twins grew up so fast that every time one of them swore (always Benedict) or when one of them asked difficult questions about life (always David) it was hard for Elizabeth or Richard to remember the day they were born and the day they were so little they could hold them in their arms.

"Grandpa Richard, play chess with me," Benedict said, holding an old board that used to be Sherlock's.

The old man smiled. He slowly made his way to the sofa where his grandchildren was sitting on and with big efforts managed to sit next to him. "'Grandpa', uh?" Richard asked, placing his walking stick next to him.

"Do your knees hurt?" David asked from his place, sitting opposite them and next to his Grandma.

"Yes. Sometimes."

"Is it because you're old?"

Yes.

Richard merely nodded and let out a very tired sigh.

Elizabeth caressed David's dark mop of curls. "Do you want to help me with my roses?"

"Yes!"

* * *

 

"And who's this one?"

Richard smiled. "My father. Sherrinford Holmes."

"They all had weird names, didn't they?"

"I named your father 'Sherlock' after my father," Richard explained. "And Elizabeth named Mycroft after hers."

"Grandma's father's name was 'Mycroft'?"

"No, 'Marcus'."

What? "'Marcus'?"

Richard smiled. "We wanted our children to have different names so we changed it a bit to 'Mycroft'."

Hamish, a seventeen year old boy now, returned to the old pictures he had found on photo albums at his grandparents' house. He wanted to know more about his family, about his grandparents, his father and his Uncle Mycroft's childhood and where do the Holmes came from.

"It's all weird."

"What is it?"

The teenager shrugged. "To feel related to you, to all the Holmes' when I'm not even Dad's son."

That was unexpected.

It was a sunny Sunday. They had all come to visit, and by all, it means Mycroft and his wife and their son Tim, Sherlock and his wife Jane and all their children and soon the house was filled with more than ten people and the maids were working non stop preparing food and cleaning the rooms. The children had a thing for sleeping, especially Sherlock's children, who apparently had been raised in a way in which after lunch they all liked to have a nap, but just the little ones. So beds had to be prepared, old toys had to be looked for in boxes and pastries, sweets and cakes had to be baked for all their grandchildren.

They all had lunch outside in the garden and Mycroft, Anthea, Jane and Sherlock and Elizabeth were drinking tea in the sitting room while all the children were in the garden playing football when Hamish, the eldest grandchild joined him in his room. Richard was getting old and he had to rest his legs. His knees were giving up and he had to walk using a stick.

"You are his son, independently of what DNA tests say," Richard said softly.

Hamish nodded.

Not an understanding nod.

A tiredly nod.

"I know you and Grandma didn't want me when I was born."

"Who told you that?"

"No one," Hamish said, not looking at Richard, but focused on the pictures on a very little Sherlock and a teenager Mycroft Holmes. "It's not difficult to deduce, you know. Mum struggled to pay the rent and buy food until Dad appeared... and you own half of this country," Hamish looked into Richard tired, old blue eyes. "And I didn't met you until I was three, when you knew Mum was expecting Lock, who's Dad's biological son."

"Hamish -"

"It's OK, you know," the teenager said, cutting his grandfather off. "I know all about it... about Dad lying to you saying I was his from the beginning... It's..." Hamish bit his lip and curled his lips upwards, but just slightly. "Why would you have wanted me then? I was Mum's baby, not Dad's."

And they thought Jane had got pregnant of their son because of his money.

The day Mycroft appeared and told them he had to take Sherlock to the States because he was a junkie and needed to get into rehab, they blamed Jane Watson. Elizabeth and Richard blamed Jane Watson saying her background and she herself was not good enough for their son. But when Mycroft told them what Sherlock did, that he hit Jane, pushed her down the stairs and almost killed her and the baby she had inside - they couldn't believe it.

And then, when Mycroft told them the baby Jane Watson had just given birth was not Sherlock's biological son, they called her a 'prostitute'. Mycroft explained Sherlock had always known and that he had married her to save her and her children, because Suzanne Watson would have made her have an abortion.

Richard remembered telling Mycroft not to give Jane Watson and that child, that bastard, any money because they were nothing.

"We blamed your mother," Richard confessed. "We thought..."

He was at a loss for words.

Hamish patted his back softly and smiled. "It's OK, Grandpa."

"We should have helped you." Richard's trembling hand reached out for his grandchild's. "We should have known what was happening between your mother and Sherlock."

"It's OK," Hamish repeated and helped his grandfather to his feet. "Grandma will be angry if we don't appear for tea."

Taking his eldest grandchild hand, Richard walked downstairs where he found his wife, his two sons, their wives and their other five grandchildren waiting for them.

* * *

 

"She's Sophia, our daughter," Sherlock said as he took the baby off her pushchair and placed her on his lap. "We adopted her."

Sophia was the prettiest baby girl they had ever seen.

"We have a granddaughter!"

Richard smiled and caressed the baby's soft hair. "Hello there."

Sophie buried her face into Sherlock's chest.

Shy.

"Sophia, say 'hello'," Sherlock murmured softly. "Little princesses are polite."

Both Elizabeth and Richard look each other and smiled.

The eighteen months old baby girl looked at her grandparents and waved her little hand shyly. "'lo."

Sophia was wearing a pink dress and matching shoes. Her brown hair, slightly curly, was combed into a ponytail and she was holding an old teddy bear.

The same teddy bear that had been Hamish's, then Lock's... and now was Sophie's.

"What a beautiful baby," Elizabeth said. "She's got Jane's eyes."

Richard nodded in agreement.

Both had seen that little baby girl growing into a child. Sophie had always been a 'Princess' as her Daddy Sherlock always called her. She was a nice, lovely, always cheerful girl very fond of pink, of horses, costumes and films.

"This is beautiful!"

"Isn't it?" Elizabeth said as she leaned close to her granddaughter. "It was given to me by Richard's mother the day of our wedding. She had worn it the day of her wedding. This necklace has been in the Holmes' family for generations."

Sophia admired the lovely, expensive and important necklace with wide eyes. "And did you give it to Mummy too?"

"Yes," Elizabeth smiled. "I gave it to her when she married your father."

"And how come you have it?" Sophia asked. "Shouldn't Mummy have it?"

"Yes, of course. But she give it back to me when Sherlock -"

No.

Sophie should never know that. She didn't need to know that Jane had given that necklace back to her when Sherlock had already been 'dead' for a year and when Jane was already dating another man - a man who turned out to be Sebastian Moran.

"Yes?"

Elizabeth smiled. "She gave it back to me for safekeeping."

"I want to wear it!"

"You will the day you get married."

"Then I never will," Sophie groaned.

"Why you say that, darling?"

"Because Daddy will never let me get married," the ten year old girl explained. "He said I must have his permission."

Elizabeth laughed. "Of course you will have his permission."

"No, I won't. Daddy said there will be no man good enough for me."

Oh, Sherlock.

"I am sure there is," Elizabeth smiled. "And when he appears, your father will give you his permission and his blessing."

"You think?"

"Of course."

"Grandma?"

"Yes, darling?"

"Promise me you'll help Mummy."

"Help her?"

Sophie nodded. "Mummy says the day of my wedding Daddy will surely do something a lot not good. So she promised me she'll keep Daddy locked in a room until I said 'Yes, I do.'" The girl laughed.

Elizabeth placed the necklace over her granddaughter's neck and smiled to the mirror. "Don't worry, Sophia. I will make myself sure your father behaves during your wedding."

_But Sherlock never behaved._

* * *

 

Tim frowned and then smiled when he realised he could beat his grandfather.

"Checkmate!"

The boy beat him again.

"You are rather good at chess."

Tim smiled proudly. "Daddy taught me."

"He was taught by the best."

Tim sipped more of his chocolate milkshake and looked at his grandfather drinking tea with some pills. "Who taught him?"

"I did."

"How was Dad?"

"When he was a kid like you?"

Tim nodded.

Richard smiled at the memory of his first son learning how to play chess at the age of seven when Sherlock was merely a baby.

_"Checkmate!"_

_"That was impressive, Mycroft. Well done."_

_The seven year old boy smiled. "Was it?"_

_"Yes," Richard pressed a kiss to his straight reddish hair. "I'm proud of you, Mycroft."_

_"Father, I want to be a king when I grow up."_

_"A king?"_

_"Yes. I want to be 'The King of the World Mycroft Holmes'."_

_Richard smiled. "But to be a King you have to marry a Queen to belong to Royalty -"_

_"I don't want to be a Royal," Mycroft cut her father off. "I want to dominate the world."_

_"Dominate the world?"_

_"Yes."_

Mycroft was not the king of the world, but he certainly dominated quite a part of it.

"Mycroft was... he was a very good boy. He liked the chocolate pastries Elizabeth bakes. He was never fond of physical exercise and -"

"How come? Dad says he can't live without going for a run every morning."

Things changed. "He changed, I suppose."

"What else?"

"We... we didn't share much. We sent Mycroft to a boarding school and we only saw him during holidays and some weekends," Richard explained. "He liked Politics and Sociology..." Richard ran a hand over his face. "It's getting difficult for me to remember some things."

"It's OK," Tim said reassuringly. "It's time you had your nap, Grandpa."

Richard laughed softly. "I should be the one taking you to bed."

The thirteen year old boy smiled and helped his grandfather to get to bed and to drink some tea.

He was old. He was forgetting things. Richard could hardy walk and the stick he was using would soon be useless.

Richard, as well as Elizabeth, both knew they were going to die soon.

But at least they had got to see their two children growing up, getting married and having lots of children.

They had been given lots of grandchildren and lots of years of happiness.

Lots.

"When I wake up I will tell you more about your father."

Tim nodded. "Get some rest, Grandpa."

"I love you, Tim."

"I love you too, Grandpa Rich."

* * *

 

"I'm so bored."

"Why don't you go and play with your brothers and your cousin?" Richard suggested.

Lock twisted his mouth. "They are playing a boring game."

"Do you want to have tea with us?" Elizabeth asked.

"Coffee. Black. Two sugars."

* * *

"And then she dropped her cup. You should have seen the look in your father's face when he told us Jane was pregnant."

Lock smiled slightly.

"You look a lot like him. He was your age when he stepped into this same room and told us he was having a baby," Elizabeth said softly. "My baby was having his own baby."

Lock had heard that story once, maybe twice. The young seventeen years old Sherlock Holmes told his parents he had a girlfriend and that she was pregnant. Lock laughed every time he imagined that scene, his father, a mere teenager, still a child, not an adult yet - it was funny.

"We hope you never do that to your parents," Richard added.

They didn't know.

"Men can't get pregnant."

"Of course they cannot," Richard said, sipping more tea. "But -"

Silence.

Both Elizabeth and Richard went silent when realisation hit them.

"His name's Mark," Lock said out of the blue. "I thought Dad told you."

Silence.

He didn't then. "Mark is my boyfriend."

An afternoon like this one, twenty years ago, his son Sherlock was telling them he had a girlfriend, that she was pregnant, that they wanted to get married and move to London.

And twenty years later their grandchild, Sherlock's son, Sherlock, was telling them he had a boyfriend, and that his name was Mark, and that he was lovely and that he wanted to meet them.

At least, Lock, like Sherlock, wasn't telling them he was getting married, or having a baby.

"Your silence is quite amusing given the fact you are not homophobic," Lock said, drinking his coffee and enjoying, inwardly, the look on his grandparents' faces. It was funny.

The first one speaking was Elizabeth.

"My God, when are you bringing him?"

What? Lock frowned. "What?"

"I've got a dinner to prepare."

"What? - No way! Why would you prepare a dinner?"

Richard and Elizabeth looked at Lock as if what he had asked had an obvious answer.

"When Hamish introduced us to the lovely Janine we prepared a special dinner with the family -"

"No way!" Lock said. "I'm not -"

"But it will be lovely!"

Richard nodded. "Have you already introduced Mark to your parents?"

"Are you nuts? Of course not!" Lock wanted to laugh. "I'm not bringing Mark."

"Why not?"

Lock shook his head. "I... do you really think I could introduce my boyfriend to my parents? Especially to Dad? I'm sure he would subdue Mark into an excruciating interrogatory."

"That is exactly why I'm suggesting we prepare a nice dinner," Elizabeth said sitting next to his grandchild. "Mark will enjoy it, I'm sure."

Lock rolled his eyes. "I'll think about it. Thank you."

"For what?" Richard asked.

"For understanding. Old people like you... sorry, but people your age," Lock corrected himself. "Thinks of homosexuality as a disease."

"We will always love you, Sherlock," Elizabeth said. "Always."

Richard nodded in agreement. "Now tell us, what's Mark like?"

Lock smiled. A deep pink shadow already tainting his cheeks.


	11. Transitions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 18
> 
> Lock - 15
> 
> Sophia - 12
> 
> Benedict and David - 9

It was late. Sherlock went upstairs and found Sophia sitting on the sofa, her legs stretched over the table, tightly wrapped with her bright pink robe, colourful socks on, a frown between her eyebrows, her eyes focused on the book she was reading. Her hair was lose, falling down like a cascade over her shoulders, long till her waist.

"It's late." Sherlock said as he walked towards her but sat on the other end of the sofa.

She nodded, her eyes focused on the book. "I know."

"You'll have bags under your eyes."

Sophie curled the corner of her lips upwards, just slightly, her eyes still on the book.

"What's wrong, Princess?"

For the first time Sophie left the book on the table and turned to him. Her brown eyes were bloodshot - she was tired and she had been crying, it was obvious. She had bags under her eyes and her normally pink cheeks were pale. The twelve-year-old girl moved further close to Sherlock and finally lay down, resting her head on her father's thighs, her slender fingers curled on the fabric of his pyjama trousers.

The detective smiled and started running his fingers over her brown long hair, then he caressed her cheek and stroked her arm.

"It's been ages since you last called me 'Princess'," Sophie whispered. "I missed it."

"I thought you hated it."

"I love it," Sophie sighed. "I thought I wasn't your princess any more."

Sherlock smiled. "You'll always be my princess."

Sophie looked at her Dad's pale arm over hers and frowned. She sat next to him and let her fingertips feel those scars on Sherlock's left arm. "This is why you're always covering your arms?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"How you got these?"

No.

Sherlock was not going to tell her daughter that. No. She would never know. Sophia would never know how he got those scars, that he did drugs. No.

"Is it something bad?"

"Yes."

"OK," Sophie left his arm and snuggled up to him. "It's OK, Daddy."

Sherlock chuckled. "It's been ages since you last called me 'Daddy'," he moved an arm around her and pressed a kiss to the top of her head. "I missed it."

She giggled. "Daddy," Sophia repeated. "Daddy, daddy, daddy."

"What's bothering you?" the detective asked. "Why were you crying?"

"Mummy didn't tell you?"

Sherlock shook his head. "No. Just got back from a case. What happened?"

It was a moment Sherlock knew he would never forget. Sophie's bloodshot eyes were on his. She wasn't little any more to be cuddled. But she wasn't too big either. She was there, in the middle between being a little girl and an adolescent. Sophia was in the middle and Sherlock didn't know what to do. But he could feel her nervousness, her tears rolling down her cheeks, her crying eyes asking for help, for a kiss, for a cuddle.

"I don't want this, Daddy."

"What? What is it?"

"I don't want you to stop loving me," Sophie said between tears. "Please tell me you'll always love me."

Sherlock kissed her cheek and wiped the tears off her face. "I'll always love you. Independently of who you are, of what you choose to be, always."

"I'm not little any more."

"What?"

"Today..." She blushed.

Sherlock frowned. "What? Are you hurt?"

Oh, Sherlock.

"Mummy says I'm a woman now."

Oh.

WHAT?

NO.

NO.

Sophia was still too little!

Sherlock went pale.

"And Mum says I'm a little woman now and that my breasts will grown and I don't want that! I wanna be little! I don't want to grow up!" Sophie said close to tears.

Daughters were not easy to raise. Let alone to understand. As Sophia was the only girl, his only daughter, Sherlock had always struggled to understand what she felt, why she felt that way and what he could do to help. Truth to be told, Sherlock would never stand seeing Sophia crying - he never did. He hated himself for it. He wished he could just lock her up somewhere where no pain, no harm, nothing could hurt her. Because he was her father and he needed to protect her. Always.

"I have no wish to see you as an adult," Sherlock said softly. "I wish you could remain little forever because one day a man will steal your heart and I'll have to let you go," the detective confessed. "You'll stop coming to me when you're sad and when you think there's a monster under your bed."

"Daddy..." Sophie whispered and then smiled. "Monster don't exist! That's silly!"

Sherlock smiled. "You thought they existed."

"I'm not going to let any man steal my heart," She said softly. "I'll be your Princess forever."

The detective couldn't help but smile at that because he knew that, even when Sophie meant it, Sherlock knew one day she would fall in love, marry and leave Baker Street, leave her pink room, his home, his arms. Sherlock knew one day he would have to let her go - and he also knew he won't be able to stop it.

He always used complicated words with all his children - that's how they put it. But with Sophie he was tender, softer.

Sophia was special.

"I can't stop your periods," Sherlock said and Sophie blushed. "I can't stop you from growing up. But I'll always love you."

The girl smiled happily and threw her arms around the detective's neck. "I love you, Daddy."

"I think this situation calls for a glass of hot milk, a cuddle and a story."

"I'm not a baby, Daddy."

No, she wasn't.

"But... can I have a story?"

The detective nodded and walked with his daughter to her room. "'The Hounds'? I've been telling you that one since you were three."

"It's my favourite, Daddy," Sophie said and yawned. "Remember when Lock deduced Mr Knight ate a sandwich on the train?"

* * *

"You lost your virginity."

The seventeen year old went pale. "What the fu-"

"I believe you were clever enough to use a condom," the detective said and glanced at his surroundings. Hamish and Lock's room was an entire mess of clothes spread everywhere, books covering the desk, a video games console and games on the floor and dirty clothes discarded at the top of their beds.

Lock, who was in the room, immediately headed to the door. "Going to help Mum with the dishes."

Once they were alone, Hamish rushed to the door and closed it. "Shit, Dad!"

"Answer my question."

"That..." Hamish blushed. "That's private!"

Sherlock glared at him.

"Yes, I used protection, happy?"

Yes.

Sherlock was happy his son had used protection.

But he didn't know if he was happy about the other thing. About his eldest son growing up, going on dates, having girlfriends.

Already sleeping with a girl.

Hamish was not a little boy any more.

Hamish was a man now.

"So her parents were away?"

The boy rolled his eyes. "Why bother asking if you can deduce?"

"Because I'm your father."

"I don't ask you whether..." Hamish tried not to think about his mother and his father like _that_. He had to find another example. "Whether... whe-"

"How frequently your mother and I have sex?"

"Ugh, that's gross."

"You have just slept with a girl."

Hamish sighed loudly. "It's not the same!"

"I wish to know nothing about your sex life -"

"Then stop asking these kind of questions!"

The detective stopped for a moment to look at his eldest son. Hamish already shaved and he liked to wear product on his hair. He had grown so much and no he was not a little boy any more. Hamish was now tall, not as tall as the detective was, but he was close. He had soft features, blue eyes - Jane's eyes - sandy hair - Jane's hair - and a calm look on his face. He looked a bit like his grandfather John Watson, but no one, not even Sherlock, could deny Hamish looked like his biological father Sam Sawyer.

Hamish was, to what Sherlock knew girls considered, 'attractive'.

The boy had already been going out with a few girls a few months ago and now he was dating one whose name Sherlock always forgot.

But Sherlock didn't care if Hamish's girlfriend's name was Jasmine, Jamine, Joan, whatever. Sherlock cared and was worried because he didn't want his eldest son to do things wrong and end up like-

Like...

"I don't want you to impregnate the first girl you sleep with," Sherlock said. "And to make mistakes you could have avoided by just being clever enough to use a condom."

Hamish pulled a face. "I'm not going to say 'Janine's parents are coming' and you'd start 'and who's Janine?' and I'd say 'Janine is my girlfriend and she's pregnant'."

That hurt.

"Stop treating me like a baby."

"Then if you want to be treated as an adult be one," Sherlock said.

For a moment neither said a word.

Until Hamish sat on the edge of his bed and buried his face in his hands. "If you don't want me to make the same mistakes you did, just say it."

"You weren't a mistake."

"You just said it," Hamish spatted. "'to make mistakes you could have avoided by just being clever enough to use a condom'," the boy quoted his father. "I'm not your mistake. I'm Mum's."

No.

"You're my son."

"Not biologically speaking."

Sherlock winced. "You were not a mistake you mother did. You are _our_ son."

"What d'you want?" Hamish asked tiredly. "If it's teaching me how things work and how girls get pregnant, I already know that."

"Your mother was seventeen when she knew she was expecting you," the detective said softly, as softly as his deep voice allowed him to. "And I was your age when I married her. We were scared."

Hamish remained silent.

"You're not a baby we can cuddle or sing lullabies to sleep," Sherlock sat next to Hamish. "But you're still not an adult we can just... let go."

Silence again.

"Do whatever you want. We'll be always support you and your life decisions. I don't want you to be scared."

"What did Grandpa do when you told her about Mum being pregnant?"

Sherlock curled his lips upwards. "He lectured me in sex and contraception methods and then ranted because I wanted to get married and not to go to Cambridge."

Hamish wanted to laugh.

The detective stood up and headed to the door.

"Dad?"

"Hmm?"

"I love you."

Sherlock grinned. "I love you, son."

* * *

"I want to be a soldier when I grow up."

The words escaped from his full lips, the very same pair of lips that made him look a lot more like his father and not so much like his mother, and in exchange, he got two pair of eyes on him.

His Dad was looking at him as if 'you are saying this now because you don't know the implications of being a soldier are'. And the detective was probably right, because the eight year old boy knew nothing more than training and guns - the most common assumptions people made.

However, his Mum looked at him and smiled.

She combed his son's soft dark reddish curls. "A soldier?"

"Yes. A soldier like Grandpa John."

"I want to be a soldier too," David said. "But I want to be a pilot!"

That was cute.

"A soldier..." Jane smiled. "What do you know about them?"

Benedict rolled his eyes. "I know it's not only gunshots and bombs and killing the enemy."

"Soldiers protect people. We want to protect people," David explained.

"The chances of any armed conflict are high," Sherlock added. "Especially if this country gets involved, which will surely happen."

"So we'll get a chance to go to a war!"

"Do you know what that means?" Jane asked the twins. "You'll protect people, but you'll also have to fight for this country... your life will be in danger."

Benedict shrugged.

David showed no emotion whatsoever.

"You're still too little to know what you want to do."

Both boys knew this was true. They were eight. Eight. They had lots of time to think of what they wanted to be once they grew up.

The detective thing was interesting too. "I could be a Detective. Like Dad." Benedict suggested.

Sherlock looked at his son. That was incredibly... flattering. That one of his children were actually considering to become a Detective like him somehow made him feel... good? None had shown any signs of interest into the detective business. All of his children had the brains to deduce, observe, experiment - but none of them, but Benedict were that interested. He had taken all of them to crime scenes, to the Yard, to Bart's - all of them had seen corpses, clues... and yet no one was interested. Hamish was going to be a doctor for sure, already following his mother's footsteps having the best grades in Biology and so on. Lock, and by just looking, Sherlock could tell was going to be a adventurous traveller and that he had the whole world to see and explore. Sophia was taking her drama lessons seriously and she was very talented - she was the actress of the family, the one who liked to read far too much, as well as watching old films and watch plays at the West End. And David had previously said he wanted to be a doctor too, like his Mum, but Sherlock saw none of it on him. Sherlock saw both twins, Benedict and David were to share the same things, the same destiny.

He stopped for a moment to think he would never get used to the idea of his children not being children any more.

Since Hamish, and then with Lock, Sherlock imagined two boys, always running to and fro, always asking him to take them to the park, to the movies to watch those horrendous action films involving superheroes. Then Sophia joined the family and soon Sherlock found himself surrounded by two different worlds in which one was ruled by his two sons and one in which his daughter liked pink things and Princesses stories.

However, when the twins were born, the cot that had belonged to Hamish, Lock and then Sophie had to be prepared, tons of nappies and formula had to be bought and then the house was full of noises, screams, tears, kids running, a girl jealous of her little siblings, a depressed Jane and two very little babies that liked to cry during the night.

That's what he liked. That's what Sherlock got used to and loved. Sherlock loved the noises, sometimes annoying, sometimes comforting such as Lock playing the violin or Sophia reading a script from a school play. He liked to hear Hamish read out loud to improve his reading and speech skills, the sound of the twins doing their mischiefs, playing. Children being children.

And he had five.

They were five.

And then, Hamish was a teenager, almost an adult going on dates, Lock was an adolescence who was discovering what he wanted to be and liked to spend far too much time at the library reading books, Sophia had no nightmares any more so there were no monsters Sherlock had to scare away and the twins were two boys who rejected cuddles and stories.

And Sherlock got used to be needed, to be called 'Daddy' and to be asked for help. The detective liked to help Hamish doing his science homework, correct Lock's composing and help him to clean his violin. The same happened with Sophia, he liked to scare those monsters as a child she claimed lived under her bed and inside her wardrobe but she was growing up and now she didn't hug him before going to bed at night. The twins rejected his old stories and cuddles and said they were far too old for that.

"Can't sleep?"

The detective was sitting on his armchair. It was late, it was dark, it was a cold night and he was barefoot. Though he didn't feel the cold through his feet.

Sherlock merely stared into the darkness of the living room, where a football wall was resting next to the sofa, Sophia's hairbrush was on the small table, Lock's violin was sitting on a shelve close to the windows and on his hands an old bottle.

"What's that?" Jane asked, sitting across him on her armchair.

Sherlock looked at the object on his hands. It was Lock's bottle. He had found it in a box downstairs and Sherlock couldn't help but smile. His son had used that bottle until he was four. He had perfect teeth, he could speak and even read, but yet he preferred to drink his milk using a bottle.

Brat.

"Lock's."

Jane smiled and rested, unconsciously, a hand over her stomach.

Such a gesture Sherlock remembered she always did when she was pregnant.

"You're thinking about what Benny and David said," Jane said softly. "They're just eight."

"You can see it."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock rose to his feet and turned one lamp on. Then, he returned back to his place, still holding Lock's old bottle. "That's not what they think they like. That's what they want to be."

Jane smiled. "They are eight," she repeated.

"And when Hamish was six he said he wanted to be a doctor and he's applying for medical universities. Lock was five when he said he wanted to explore the world and now you can ask him and he will tell you the best route to get into the deep of the South American jungle," Sherlock said and then fixed his eyes on Jane's. "Sophie had always said she wanted to be an actress and there you have her taking parts in every school play."

That was awfully true.

"And today our two youngest children said they want to be soldiers like their grandfather."

"I still think they are too young to know what they want," Jane insisted. "I'm as worried as you are -"

"I'm not worried."

"Then what are you doing up at three in the morning with Lock's old bottle?" Jane asked softly. "If that's what they want, well... we can't do anything to stop them."

Sherlock nodded. "We must."

"But we can't."

"They could die."

"Or there couldn't be a war."

The detective looked into her eyes. "I don't want them to grow up." He admitted. "I want to be able to protect them."

"Are you planning to die?"

"No."

"Why wouldn't you be there to protect them?"

Sherlock looked down at the bottle. "Because they will become adults."

Jane smiled. "This same thing happened to our parents the day we told them we were expecting a baby when we were just seventeen."

Sherlock remained silent.

"You were your parent's baby, their only child left at home and I was... I guess I was something like that to my mother," Jane explained. "We were children, Sherlock... and they had to see us leaving their sides -"

"It's not the same. Hamish's not impregnated that girl he likes - Jasmine."

"Janine." Jane curled the corner of her lips upwards. "The fact they don't ask you for cuddles, kisses, stories or help doesn't mean they don't need it."

"I don't understand them."

"Me neither. One day Hamish wakes up grumpy and doesn't wear his hearing aids because he doesn't want to listen to anyone, Lock has his moments too, remember the day he woke all of us at two in the morning with his violin?" Sherlock nodded, slightly smiling. "Sophia is a little woman now and I find it difficult to deal with her mood swings," both chuckled. "And David and Benedict are fighting most of the time."

"They should have been born with a textbook each."

"Then parenting would have been extremely boring."

"Am I a good father?" Sherlock asked her.

Jane smiled tenderly at him. "Of course you're a good father. Everything you do is the best for them. Everything. I always thought you and me would be a disaster but here we are, two against five. And we manage."

Sherlock smiled and kissed her softly.

After a few kisses, both looked into each other eyes.

Dilated pupils. Sherlock touched Jane's wrist. Her pulse was high.

"You still love me."

She smiled. "Of course."

"Always?"

"Always."


	12. Unexpected

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hamish - 20
> 
> Lock - 17
> 
> Sophie - 13
> 
> Benedict and David - 10

Unexpected things always come in unexpected ways. Always. It doesn't matter the nature of these things. But we all always end up surprised by them and we can't even think, really think, what happened, what we did for this to happen.

That happened when both were sitting together at the doctor's office waiting for them to tell them what they already knew.

Hamish was twenty years old and he had already left home to go to uni and was living with his girlfriend in Manchester, he was an adult who despite the money his parents, his grandparents and his uncle sent him because they wanted him to focus on his studies, insisted he had to work at a trendy pub where he and his girlfriend got good tips. Lock was sixteen, he was dating someone he kept saying would, someday, bring home. Sophia was thirteen, already a teenager with mood swings, who still loved that hideous actor Sherlock hated and who liked to bring friends home for sleepovers. The twins were ten years old both, two ten years old who liked to confuse people who couldn't tell them apart by swapping places and wearing the same clothes. Benedict swore far too much sometimes and David was still a shy child.

All of them were big now. None of them required to be told stories or lullabies to go to sleep. Hamish didn't live at Baker Street any more, Lock was barely at home, being during the mornings at school, during the afternoons practising the violin with the school band and spending some time with that boyfriend he said he had, going to places he never told his parents about. Sophia and the twins were in their own world, the former going to the movies with her friends and to her drama lessons and the latter playing football with their friends, going to their friends' house.

And that's how the house, from being noisy with children running to and fro, children screaming, laughing and playing, became silent.

That's how both Jane and Sherlock had a moment to breath.

So when this happened, no one saw it coming.

Not even Jane and Sherlock.

Neither of the two adults knew whether it had been an accident or not. They had always been careful since the twins were born and after them Jane was told the chances of getting pregnant were slim. She was thirty seven and Sherlock thirty eight, and though they were still young, they never pictured themselves having another child again now that their eldest was twenty, Lock was going to college soon, Sophie was a teenager and the twins were merely kids that soon would be teenagers too.

They were going to be parents again.

Of their _sixth_ child.

In their first appointment with Jane's doctor, they were not only told that she was eight weeks pregnant, but also not to raise their hopes because apparently the baby was bound to die. Jane life's was in danger, and if she wanted to survive the pregnancy, she would have to get an abortion.

Jane didn't have the best medical history when it came about her pregnancies: when Hamish was born both had a heart attack and her uterus collapsed. Nothing happened during her second pregnancy, when Locky was born, but then when she was pregnant again and carrying Matthew Morstan's child, she lost it and she was lied that she couldn't bear babies. Then, the twins came and they did not only made the family bigger, but also debilitated Jane to the point her life was in danger.

It was her life or their baby's.

When Sherlock looked at Jane he knew she was not getting an abortion.

She preferred to have their baby.

"We need to get rid of it."

It hurt him to say those words. Both were sitting together at the park. Together in a bench that reminded Jane of the day she read her blood test results and being a mere seventeen year old girl, she realised was going to have a baby. Twenty years later they were sitting together not at the same park, but even though the situation was similar, it was completely different. Twenty years ago Sherlock was holding Jane's hand and telling her she and her baby were going to be fine, that he would help them.

And twenty years later Sherlock was not holding her hand, but there was a strange expression on his face, as if he had been deceived and he was suggesting she had an abortion.

Sherlock was suggesting they should kill their baby.

Jane caught her breath and moved a hand to her stomach.

Eight weeks.

"You want to kill our baby."

Sherlock turned to her. "I don't want to lose you."

Jane got to her feet and walked away. Sherlock watched her walking away from him, heading to any particular direction. He watched her leaving when a tear rolled down his sharp cheekbones and he decided to do the same.

Walk away.

* * *

"I need to talk to you."

Richard's grip on her walking stick tightened. He was old, he could not see properly without his glasses and he could nor walk properly without using that stupid walking stick. His knees were giving up and he was told soon he would need a wheelchair as well. Richard Holmes was old, and not always being old is a synonym of wise.

But he was.

Sherlock had always be independent. Always. Richard was old and he could barely remember, unless he made a big effort. This time Richard couldn't remember when was the last time, if there had ever been one, in which Sherlock came to him asking him to have a word.

They were sitting together in the living room, the same room twenty years ago Sherlock stepped in and told him and Elizabeth that his girlfriend was pregnant and that it was his. Twenty years later Sherlock came back and in the same room, drinking the same brand of tea and all, told his father his wife was pregnant.

Twenty years ago Sherlock said they were keeping it.

Twenty years later Sherlock said he wanted her to get rid of it.

"Why?"

He was wearing his glasses. So Richard saw the pain in his son's face.

"She could die."

"She's keeping it, of course."

"She's stubborn."

"Not the only one in the family."

Silence.

"You should have gone to your mother," Richard sighed as he swallowed the pills that kept him going. "Women are, uh, I believe, more wise when it comes about -"

"This is not about Jane. It's about me."

What?

Richard remained silent and waited for his son. Sherlock crossed his legs and looked away to the pictures over the mantelpiece. Lots of pictures of his children and Mycroft's son, Tim. "I don't know if I could love the child if Jane dies."

Richard removed his glasses, pinched the bridge of his nose and then ran a hand over his face. "You will."

"Even when he or she coming to the world meant Jane's death?" Sherlock asked, every word hurting him. "I don't know."

"You don't know. That's the point."

Sherlock remained silent. His grey eyes fixed on his father's, now not wearing his glasses.

"You didn't know what Hamish could be like - surely not like you - but still you loved him since the first moment you knew Jane was pregnant. And you didn't love Sophia as much as you love her now but still you adopted her because Jane loved her as if she had been her real daughter," Richard explained. "You didn't know how it would be like and now you do not only love them but you are willing to give your life for them."

That was true.

"You will love that child with all your heart. Even when his or her life meant Jane's death."

The detective took a deep breath, his eyes fixed again on his children's pictures. "What will I do without her?"

A question bound to be asked to himself, on his moments of solitude, and not to his father.

"The same what she did when you left."

For a moment, Sherlock thought this was a punishment for leaving six years; three years when he had to get clean and he left Jane and Hamish alone and three other years when he had to fake his death and left her alone again but with two of their children.

He left them for six years.

What if now Jane left him for ever?

* * *

"I'm pregnant, Dad," Jane murmured to the grave. "Sherlock says I have to get an abortion."

Tears rolled down her cheeks. She crossed her arms over her chest and then touched her belly.

Eight weeks.

"I can't do it... I've already let one baby die inside me. I can't let it happen again."

Jane closed her eyes and remembered seeing that very, but very little baby she had lost almost fourteen years ago. She remembered asking her doctor to let her see it because she _had_ to see it. She needed to see it.

It was a baby girl.

A baby girl Jane only conceived as hers the day she lost her.

"I don't want to... I don't want to leave my children and Sherlock," Jane paused a looked at the first scan of her baby. "But I can't kill this baby."

Leaving the cemetery, Jane walked past Matthew Morstan and their baby's grave.

She just left a white rose and left.

* * *

They didn't talk for days, but still they shared breakfasts, teas, dinners together with their children and pretended nothing happened. They even shared the same bed at night and neither of them said a word. Sherlock saw old maternity books being dusted down and now placed at the top of Jane's bedside table.

And he remember the fathers' parts by heart.

"Mark is coming next week."

"Mark?"

"Lock's boyfriend," Jane replied, her eyes on a novel she had been trying to read for months now but always complained she didn't have the time. "I quit today."

Sherlock ran a hand through his hair and found a couple of white hairs lose in between his fingers. "Why?"

"I'm tired. And I want to spend more time at home with the kids."

"Before dying?"

Sherlock saw her closing her eyes and then her book. "I won't die."

"You don't know it."

"Yes, I do," Jane said softly. "It's not my time yet. I have five children and a husband to look after," she took his hand and laced their fingers. "And a baby coming soon."

They kissed. They kissed as if they were asking each other for permission and as if they were two teenagers.

Shyly.

How odd. They had been together for twenty years. They knew each other since they were mere teenagers and they were reaching their forties now and every kiss still made their hearts beat faster.

Sherlock could still feel Jane's thin, soft lips as if it were the first time he was kissing them, feeling them with his own.

And Jane could still feel butterflies in her stomach every time she kissed Sherlock and when she felt his strong arms around her thin body.

"We should keep it from the kids."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "They'll know it even if we don't tell them."

"I'm eight weeks pregnant. It's not for sure yet." Jane snuggled close to Sherlock. "The doctor said the baby could die."

The detective moved a hand to her stomach. It was still so early, but he couldn't wait to feel their baby kicking. The product of their love inside her.

"It won't."

Jane stopped working and Sherlock was taking less and less cases to spend more time at home and next to Jane. The children didn't say much, and even though Lock, Benedict and David had inherited most of the Holmes' deductive skills, none of them seemed to know about it.

Or that's what their parents thought.

* * *

"What's Mark like?"

Lock continued drinking his coffee. "Why you ask? You'll see him tomorrow."

"Ugh, but I can't wait!" Sophie smiled. "I bet he's very handsome, otherwise he wouldn't be your boyfriend."

The almost seventeen year old boy blushed a bit. "Brains are important. More than a rather good looking bloke."

"Have you already had sex?"

Lock hit Benedict with a magazine lightly on the head. "Shut up!"

"Oi!" Benedict rubbed his head. "Mum! Lock hit me!"

David laughed his head off and then threw an arm around Lock's shoulders. "We'll behave, we promise."

"You'd better. No nasty comments," Lock said, his eyes on Benedict. "No stories about me as a child," his eyes on his parents. "Nothing, all right?"

"I have already prepared a series of questions Michael -"

"Mark," Lock corrected his father.

"-ought to answer."

Jane glared at him. "Sherlock."

Lock smiled slightly. "You didn't ask Janine questions."

" _I_ did." Jane said with a smile, remembering the day Hamish brought his girlfriend home for the first time, she almost bombed the poor girl with questions. She was a bit jealous and she didn't want any girl to break her son's heart.

"That's because mothers and their sons have an important bond."

"What are you implying?" Lock asked.

Sherlock frowned. "If you are bringing Martin -"

"Mark."

"Whatever," Sherlock waved his hand dismissively. "It's because you've been seeing each other for a while and you're serious about it."

Lock said nothing whatsoever.

"Then, if he is to join the family -"

"We're not getting fucking married!"

"-I ought to know he's not going to hurt you. And watch your language."

Lock rolled his eyes and massaged his temples with his fingertips. "Just... promise you won't scare him away. The last thing I need is my boyfriend leaving because of my crazy family."

"Don't worry Lock," Sophie said, hugging his brother's neck from behind. "If Mark can stand you, he will surely stand Daddy."

Lock couldn't help but smile because that was so true.

* * *

It was Friday afternoon. Lock was rehearsing the violin with the school band because they were playing in a few weeks and he had to practise. The twins were at one of their friends', Sophie was at the cinema with her friends so the only ones at home were Jane and Sherlock. The detective was looking at cots online, saying the one they had in the basement was far too old for the new baby.

"It's just a cot," Jane said, chopping some carrots for dinner. "Besides, it would be nice if the baby uses the same cot that all the others had."

The doorbell rang and Sherlock looked down through the windows. There was a boy standing at the door, an important, trendy dark motorcycle next to him and he was wearing a black helmet. Clients? No, he was not taking cases. Someone from the Yard? No, they usually called. Someone who got the address wrong? No.

Oh.

"Who is it?"

Sherlock turned to his wife, smiled and went downstairs.

As soon as he opened the door he was facing the famous 'Mark'.

"Mr Holmes?"

"Marlon."

"Mark," Mark extended his hand and waited for Sherlock to do the shakes. "Nice to meet you."

Sherlock said nothing for a moment. "Lock's not at home. And you were supposed to be here for dinner."

"I know," Mark smiled a bit. "But I wanted to meet you without him being present."

Oh.

That showed... bravery.

Sherlock moved aside and let the boy get inside. The detective lead the way upstairs where Jane was placing a tray with two tea cups and cake.

"Mrs Holmes?"

"Yeah," Jane looked at the boy standing in front of her, who was holding a motorcycle helmet and then at his husband standing behind him. "Mark?"

Mark smiled. "Yeah. Nice to meet you. Lock told me lots about you two."

Sherlock and Jane sat on their respective armchairs and Mark in a chair. While Jane and Mark engaged in a talk about whether he would like the dinner she was preparing, because apparently he was a vegetarian and Lock had already said so, so Jane was preparing roasted vegetables and rice and Mark said it sounded delicious.

But the detective was silently drinking his tea whilst observing Mark. He was... good looking. He was as tall as Lock was, but had blonde hair, slightly long he combed to one side. He had pale complexion, blue eyes, big blue eyes, sharp features, and possessed quite a deep voice. He was wearing a grey long sleeved tee, a baggy denim shirt over, unbuttoned, a pair of dark jeans and red converse trainers.

Lock said brains were important.

But Sherlock saw none of it on Mark.

So he had to test that.

"Newton's third law of motion?"

Mark looked at him. "Sorry?"

"Answer my question."

The boy looked at him, and then at Jane and smiled. "Uh... When one body exerts a force on a second body, the second body simultaneously exerts a force equal in magnitude and opposite in direction to that of the first body."

Oh.

"The fifteen metallic chemical elements with atomic numbers fifty-seven through seventy-one are known as?"

"The Lanthanide elements?"

Sherlock raised an eyebrow. That had been... _impressive._

Jane rolled his eyes. "Excuse him, Mark," then she glared at Sherlock. "Sherlock -"

"What do you know about the Solar System?"

"I mean no disrespect, but," Mark chuckled. "Who cares about the Solar System?"

Sherlock got the feeling he liked Mark.

"Good."

"My dad's a Science teacher."

That explained it.

"You said you wanted to meet us without Lock being present."

"Oh, yes," Mark said, placing his empty cup back to its saucer on the small table. "Um, Lock's been telling me about you," the boy said with no shyness whatsoever. "He sort of warned me."

Jane smiled. "Lock can exaggerate sometimes -"

"I can assure you, without even knowing what he said, it's all true." Sherlock said, cutting Jane off.

Mark went silent for a moment. "He said if I hurt him you'll kill me."

Jane smiled. "See? Lock was joking -"

"I will," Sherlock said, a serious expression on his face, his eyes fixed on Mark's. "If you ever hurt my son I will make myself sure no one ever finds your bones. You know who I am and what I do, so you'd better think twice before ever making Lock cry."

Jane thought Mark was going to just ran away. Sherlock used his most deep, serious and frightening voice he only used with the twins to scold them after they did something a lot not good or when he wanted a criminal he had just caught to confess a crime. Or to scare witnesses. Or to get information.

But Mark just laughed.

"Wow, Lock wasn't joking!"

What?

"Excuse me?"

Mark cleared his throat. "Mr, Mrs Holmes, I have the best intentions with your son, really. I..." he blushed and smiled. "I love Lock. He's so damn clever he makes me feel like a fool."

"Obviously."

"Uh," Mark looked at Jane. "We've been together for a while and, uh, I asked Lock to meet you."

Jane smiled. "Really?"

"Yeah, uh..." Mark bit his lip. "I know you're not homophobic, Lock told me about you."

Silence fell upon them.

Mark cleared his throat again. "What I'm trying to say is... that I love Lock and I want him to make him happy. I want you to know I won't hurt your son... Lock is very important to me. He..." the boy smiled. "He made me realise what I really was."

Jane smiled.

Sherlock was deep lost in Mark's words.

"God, that was so embarrassing."

"Not at all," Jane said, smiling. "I'm... I'm really glad you're my son's boyfriend. I know you won't hurt him. And it's clear that you love him."

Mark smiled and both turned to Sherlock, who so far, said no word.

"You're being honest," The detective leaned back on his chair, his hands glued together under his chin. "And he didn't say that."

"He said you'll cut my balls off."

Sherlock curled the corner of his lips upwards. "Hurt him and I'll make something worst than cutting your balls off."

Mark nodded.

"I'll cut your penis off."

Jane rolled her eyes and smiled reassuringly to Mark. "Lock's rehearsals will finish soon. Why don't you pick him up?" she asked him. "Oh, and in your way back, could you get some wine?"

"You can't drink." Sherlock said quickly.

"Sherlock -"

Mark frowned. "Are you pregnant?"

"No."

Mark smiled. "Don't worry, I won't tell Lock."

"How do you know?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"I've got three brothers, two sisters and I'm the oldest," Mark explained. "I've seen my mother pregnant five times already. I think I know when a woman is expecting a baby. The look in their eyes change."

That was sweet.

* * *

Sherlock found out his son liked to spend lots of time with Mark and they rode that motorcycle all around London. And then the detective wondered why his brother Mycroft, an expert in CCTV who liked to know everything about everyone, never said a word about this.

And when Mark and Lock returned to Baker Street, Sophia and the twins were already at home, the three of them eagerly waiting to meet the famous 'Mark', Lock's sweetheart.

So when they were back, Mark gave Jane a bottle of very good wine he said he had at home, and then he found himself surrounded by three of Lock's four siblings.

"Hamish's in Manchester," Lock said dismissively. "She's Sophia and they are Benedict and David."

"Hi, nice to meet you!" Sophie smiled happily. She really wanted Lock and his boyfriend to feel welcome and loved.

Mark smiled sincerely. "Nice to meet you too. Lock told me lots about you." Then he turned to the twins. "Hello there. How am I to tell you apart?"

Benedict smirked mischievously. "I'm the rudest." He and David looked at each other and giggled.

Mark didn't know if he was saying the truth or not, so he laughed a bit nervously.

"Dinner will be ready in half an hour."

Lock was leading Mark upstairs to his room when Sherlock had to say something to annoy his son. "Know boundaries under my roof."

"Ugh, Dad, shut up!"

Once in Lock's room, the boy locked the door and sighed tiredly. "Benedict is the insufferable one and David is always quiet. You'll tell them apart within a second."

Mark smiled and noticed something in Lock's eyes. "Are you OK?"

"Why you came early?"

"I just wanted to let them know that I love you," Mark said, sitting on Lock's bed. "That I won't hurt you."

"That was a very stupid thing to do." Lock showed no emotion whatsoever. "Love is a chemical defect."

"Is it?"

"It starts with attraction," he said, walking towards Mark and sitting next to him on his bed. "It last for a while. I'm not sure for how long."

"More than half an hour before dinner?" Mark asked jokingly, leaning close to Lock.

Lock smiled. "Half and an hour before dinner is enough time for a good snog."

"Your father said -"

"Fuck him and his rules."

Twenty eight minutes later, both boys were feverishly kissing and they were nothing but tangled limbs, messy hair and swollen lips when they heard a knock at the door.

"Lock! Dad says dinner's ready and that you and your boyfriend can stop shoving your tongues down your throats!"

Lock and Mark looked into each other's eyes and laughed.

"Who was that one?"

Lock rolled his eyes. "Who else? Benedict."

* * *

Dinner was good.

Too good to be true.

And that made Lock realise that Mark talking to his parents earlier had been not stupid at all. Lock was proud because Mark had brains.

Mark loved Jane's food and the dessert Sophie had prepared.

Even the twins' comments.

"So," David said sitting next to Mark after dinner was done and they were in the living room now. "How long have you and my brother been going out?"

Mark bit his lip. "For a while now."

"How long is 'for a while'?" David asked.

"Um," Mark looked uneasy. "A while."

David and Benedict glared at him.

"Are you Lock's classmate?" Sophie asked, handing him a piece of the cake she had baked. "I haven't seen you at school."

"No, I'm not going to college. I'm in my gap year."

"Oh," Sophie smiled. "Well, how you two met, if you don't mind me asking."

Mark smiled, remembering that day. "We met at a book-store. I was buying a book about jokes when Lock told me I was stupid for even considering that one."

Lock smiled. "It was a stupid book."

"Did you buy it?" David asked.

"Yes."

"Why?" Benedict asked. "If Lock said it was stupid?"

Mark smiled widely. "Because I wanted to prove him it wasn't a stupid book and that I wasn't stupid for buying it."

Both Lock and Mark shared a loving look that made Jane smile. And Sherlock realised that boy really loved his son.

They ate cake calmly and then Lock announced his boyfriend was staying.

"Know boundaries under my roof -"

"You didn't say this when Janine stayed!"

Sherlock ignored that. "Your sister's sleeping in the room next to yours and your brothers downstairs."

"We're not going to shag. I don't even got lube here."

"Too much information."

Lock stuck his tongue out. "Then stop assuming things. I'll leave the door open if that pleases you."

Jane patted Sherlock's arm. "Sherlock, please. Leave him alone."

The following morning Sherlock walked past the boy's room and the door was slightly open. He looked in and saw both peacefully sleeping in each other's arms. Lock looked so calm, so complete. Next to him was his boyfriend with an arm over Lock's stomach, their legs tangled. Both snoring softly.

How odd.

He wondered if his father felt this way when Jane was his friend and used to stay at his place. Not like they used to sleep like Lock and his boyfriend. But they were friends, at least until they got married. And then Sherlock felt emptiness. He had cuddled, sang to sleep and bottle-fed Lock not so long ago and now he was seventeen and he had a boyfriend.

Lock was soon going to leave their sides and a new baby was going to join the family.

How odd.

* * *

Five weeks later Hamish was back home for a weekend.

And Jane was now almost fourteen weeks pregnant and now it was safe.

And it was time to tell their children she and Sherlock were going to be parents again and that they will have a baby brother or a baby sister soon.

It had been easy to hide the morning sickness and the cravings. When asked why she stopped working Jane said she was tired of long shifts and that she was considering going back to work with Sherlock. She had been a sort of assistant to him when they were teenagers and she really missed that. She wouldn't have to work long shifts and so on, but it was a lie. She was not going to work with Sherlock, she was going to stay at home and rest in order the baby she was carrying would be born healthy.

They were having lunch all together. It felt like old times, having the five of them all together, Hamish and Lock making jokes, Hamish teaching the twins new jokes and Hamish and Sophie discussing plays.

But when they saw their twenty year old son again, sitting between his siblings, both Jane and Sherlock couldn't help but think how odd this was. That they were going to be parents again of a very little baby when their oldest was twenty already living with his girlfriend and going to uni. And it became even worse when they thought that they would probably become grandparents in a couple of years and in a couple of years the baby coming soon would be just a small child.

"How's Janine?"

"She's with her parents in France," Hamish answered his mother and then turned to Lock. "So, they met Mark?"

Lock rolled his eyes. "It went fine, though."

"Really? Did Dad subjugate him to an interrogatory and some speech?"

"He told Mark that if he ever hurt me he'll cut his balls and his penis off," The four children and Hamish laughed. "And Dad let him stay for the night. Even though he thought we were going to shag."

Benedict laughed. "Did you?"

"Ugh, Ben shut up!" Sophie said.

"Overall... Mark really liked them," Lock said with a tiny smile. "He said you were lovely."

Jane and Sherlock couldn't help but feel happy for their son. They were happy if Lock was happy. And it was clear that the boy indeed was. That's what they meant when they said they would always support them, independently of what they wanted or chose to be, always.

"I'm very happy for you," Hamish said, patting Lock's back. "We should go to the pub tonight. Bring Mark and lets have some pints. It's on me."

Lock beamed. "Thanks, Mish."

"OK, people," Jane cleared her throat. "Uh, your father and I have something to tell you."

Suddenly, Jane and Sherlock felt five pairs of eyes on them.

Under the table, Sherlock caressed her thigh softly, reassuringly.

There was nothing to be afraid of. They were going to have a baby. It was not a bad thing - they were not going to tel them they were signing for a divorce or something like that.

"I'm pregnant."

For two or three second none of them showed any emotion whatsoever.

Benedict was the first to say something.

"Oh, Lock, fuck off!"

Sophie rolled her eyes and handed Lock a twenty pound note.

Then the twins were pulling some money from their pockets and they also handed him twenty pounds each.

And finally Hamish laughed, patted Lock's back and handed him a twenty pound note. "You won!"

Lock counted the money and smiled triumphantly. "Eighty pounds, thanks Mum."

"What the -"

"You had a bet?" Sherlock asked, shocked.

They all looked at them as if it had been the obvious thing in the world.

"I knew it first!" David said cheerfully. "You stopped drinking wine at dinner. Then you put a radio in the bathroom and put music on when you had morning sickness!"

Benedict nodded. "And you stopped working. And you love your job."

"And you haven't had a case in weeks, not because there aren't any but because you want to stay with Mum all the time," Sophie said with a smile. "You rejected an interesting one two weeks ago."

"And you're wearing loose clothes," Lock added.

"We skyped a few weeks ago," Hamish said. "They told me about it so we thought why not betting?"

Jane smiled. "So you all knew?"

"We said you'd tell us at week twelve," Sophie said, referring to hers and the twins' opinion.

"I said thirteen," Hamish commented.

Lock smiled. "And I said fourteen. I won."

Sherlock pinched the bridge of his nose.

Brats.

"It's a girl," Hamish said.

"Yep," Lock agreed.

The twins both tilted their heads and looked at each other. "It's a boy," David added.

Sophie bit her lip. "It's a boy."

Sherlock held Jane's hand. "We decided not to know the gender."

Hamish patted Sherlock's shoulder. "Congratulations, Dad."

Lock and Sophie also felt very happy for their parents. However, David and Benedict felt different. It was exciting to know they were going to have a brother or sister soon, but they were used to be the little ones of the family.

"Can you feel the baby, Mummy?"

Jane let David touch her belly. "Not yet, in a couple of weeks he or she will start kicking though."

Benedict touched her very small baby bump too. "So you and Dad had sex again and made a baby."

"Ugh, Benedict stop with the sex thing will you?" Sophie joked.

"But that's how babies are made!"

"I know! But don't say it like that!"

Lock nodded. "You're just bringing unnecessary images to our minds."


	13. Small

**Week 16**

The boy sat across his mother and observed her. It was weird to see her always sitting down on her chair, always reading those maternity books and always with a hand on her belly, moving it up and down, from one side to another as if she were caressing that baby inside her through her skin.

David wondered if the baby could feel that.

Jane had always been so active, always doing things in the flat, cooking, helping the twins with their homework, reading medical books, working as a doctor. Mummy always had time for them, to hear their stories of how fast they ran in PE, how good they did in Maths and also to watch their favourite films with them, as well as Doctor Who and so on.

But this time Mummy was no longer working, she spend most of the day in bed, reading, sometimes sleeping. She no longer cooked lunch or dinner, being Daddy Sherlock in change of that - but he always bought take away. Mummy no longer helped them with their homework, being now Lock in charge of that and now both twins drank their milk, ate their cookies and watched their favourite episodes of Doctor Who _alone_.

And David missed his mum.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, David?"

"Is it a boy or a girl?"

Jane closed the book she was reading, placed it on the small table next to her armchair and smiled to her son. "Why you wanna know?"

"Because it's weird."

"What's weird?"

"That," David pointed at her belly. "How can you and Dad not want to know the gender? How are you going to decorate the baby's room? And what names will you choose if you don't know what it is?"

Too many questions, too many possible answers. David could ask million of questions and wait patiently for all the answers. He was a curious boy, something inherited from his father, and while Benedict would deduce and observe, David preferred to ask for questions, seek the answers.

Jane couldn't help but smile. She let David sit on her knees while she caressed his son's reddish curls which were turning darker now - those curls that resembled Sherlock's were soft, darker now. Those curls made him look like a little angel.

"We decided not to know. That's all."

"And what about the room?"

Jane bent her head. They hadn't given that much thought, though. "We'll see. We still have time."

"And the names?"

They had that conversation already and Sherlock said he just couldn't think of any. So did she.

"Well," Jane licked her lips. "We decided to wait till the baby's born."

"But..." The boy chewed his lip. "You must have thought of names, right?"

She shook her head.

The boy frowned, curiosity already possessing him. "Why is that you and Daddy don't want to know? The doctor said he could tell us all the gender if you wanted to. Why you said no, Mummy?"

It was simple, but complicated at the same time.

"Because we don't want to know," Jane replied.

A few days ago Jane and Sherlock decided to take the twins and Lock with them to the doctor's, the day of Jane's monthly ultrasound. Lock couldn't make it, but the twins were there when the doctor told them the baby was very healthy and that it had already developed the organs that could tell whether it was a girl or a boy. When asked if they wanted to know, both Jane and Sherlock said no.

But the twins insisted they wanted to know. Both Benedict and David leaned close to the screen and looked at the images of their brother or sister inside their Mum. Neither of them could tell a thing, if it was a boy or a girl. As she was a doctor, Jane could look at the screen and know. But she chose not to.

"We want to wait."

David frowned. "But you know what it is, don't you?"

"No."

"No?"

Jane nodded. "I was able to tell with all of you. With Hamish, with Lock, even with you and your brother," she took David's little hand and pressed a soft kiss to his palm. "Even your father did it. But this time... this time we _don't_ _know_."

"You don't know?" David asked, shocked.

"Nope, we don't know."

David pressed both hands to his Mum's growing belly and then rested her head on it. He could hear very strange sounds and some movements. Jane told him the baby was still too small to kick and move more than that, and David wondered what does it feel like to have a baby inside.

"It's the most beautiful moment in a woman's life."

David tilted his head to one side. "So... will you have more babies after this one?"

Jane smiled. "I don't think so, Puppet."

"Why?"

"Because..." she bit her lip and felt her baby moving - softly. "You'll be six, the flat's not that big and I'm old."

"You're thirty seven, Mummy."

"It's dangerous to have babies at my age."

"Why?"

"Because babies can have health problems."

The boy seemed to be processing Jane's words when he buried his curly dark head on her chest. "Mummy?"

"Yes, David?"

He looked into her eyes. "I love you, Mummy."

She couldn't help but smile, press a soft kiss to that boy's cheek and tell him she will always love him.

* * *

**Week 18**

"How are you feeling?"

Jane smiled.

"The truth, Mum."

A weak smile. "Tired."

Hamish read her medical reports and nodded. "Everything's all right. I don't like these blood test results. Your level of -"

"It's all right."

"But -"

Jane patted Hamish's shoulder and handed him his mug with chocolate milkshake. "I'm fine."

He eventually gave up.

"It's been ages since I last drank your milkshake," he said after drinking some. "I had to get used to coffee."

"How's life with Janine?"

Hamish chuckled. "We manage. We have our quarrels every now and then."

Jane looked puzzled.

"I just..." twenty year old Hamish shrugged. "If I don't eat she thinks I don't like her food. If I don't wear that shirt she bought me she thinks I don't like it. If I don't wash the dishes she thinks I'm being lazy."

"Have you talked to her?"

"Yeah."

"And?"

Hamish sighed. "We got to the conclusion that we should spend some time apart."

Oh.

"Can I stay here during the summer holidays?"

"Of course. This'll always be your home."

He ran a hand over his face. "You think spending some time apart will help?"

"It could help, yes."

"I know it's not the end of the world because, well, Janine and I've been together since we were seventeen, uh," Hamish paused and then continued. "I still have a life ahead, so does she. Maybe we're not meant to spend the rest of our lives together."

Jane smiled reassuringly. "Everything will be fine."

"Where's Dad?" Hamish asked after a long moment of silence.

"Napping in Sophie's room."

Hamish laughed. "What? Dad's napping?"

She nodded and sipped more of her tea. "He spent the whole night trying to assemble the cot and this morning he was helping Sophie with her Science homework when he fell asleep. He's getting old."

"He couldn't?" Hamish asked, shocked.

"Your father can solve crimes but he can't assemble a cot."

"I'll do it."

Hamish and Jane went to the basement and finally he assembled the cot in his parents' bedroom. An hour later the cot was assembled, clean and there was a little mattress and bedclothes to complete it.

"Was it mine?"

Jane nodded. "And Lock, Sophie and the twins'."

Hamish smiled and turned to his mother. "Mum, this is a dangerous pregnancy, isn't it?"

There wasn't any excuse Jane could use. Hamish was in med school and he was studying very hard. There was no point lying to him when he already knew the truth.

"You know the risks."

Jane just nodded and found that old teddy bear that had been Hamish's, Lock's, Sophie's and the twins. It had one eye missing and it was covered with dirt. One arm had been torn and Jane made a quick mental note to wash it and fix it. She hoped it could be the new baby's too.

"Dad knows about this?"

Jane merely nodded.

"Why, Mum?"

"Because it happened once. And I don't want it to happen again."

Hamish sat next to his mother. "What?"

"She would be fourteen."

"She? How far along you were?"

Jane winced. "The pregnancy had advanced enough that it had a heart. And it was a baby girl."

Hamish said no word for a moment, making calculations and thinking about everything he had already learnt. To have a heart and to be a baby girl... it must have been an advanced pregnancy.

Then, Hamish realised the kind of risks his mother was taking with this pregnancy.

He buried his head on her mother's chest, just like he did when he was a small child and cried. He cried for long minutes when he felt Jane's slender, warm hands caressing his sandy hair, that same sandy hair that made him look a lot like her.

And her tender, soft, soothing voice. That same voice he remember listening to when he was a very little child and they were alone in the world.

"Everything's going to be all right, Mish. "

"You can't leave us, Mum."

Jane smiled tenderly, lovingly. "I won't. I promise."

* * *

**Week 20**

"Mum, is it a boy or a girl?"

"I don't know, Benedict."

"Oh, don't start with that again -"

"Don't talk to me like that. I'm your mother."

Benedict looked down. "I'm sorry."

"Baby, I don't know what it is," Jane said soothingly. "Why is it that you and David insist so much?"

Benedict folded his arms over his chest. "I asked Dad and he said the same. How can you not know?"

"We _don't know_."

"It's a boy."

"You think?"

"Of course."

Jane sat next to his son and both watched an old episode of Doctor Who together. Five minutes after it had started, Benedict snuggled close to Jane and rested her head close to her belly. Jane placed an arm around her son's shoulders and when the episode ended the boy caressed her belly and placed a hand on it, curiously feeling the baby inside his mum.

"I remember being inside your tummy."

Jane's eyes lit up. "What do you remember?"

"It was dark. Tight and warm," Benedict explained. "I remember hearing voices. And Dad's violin."

That was... so sweet. Of course it was dark, babies are born practically blind and they can only see shadows when they are born. And Jane assumed it was tight and warm because he and David where inside her, she had not one but two babies inside her womb and that complicated things. Her uterus was too small and she had no room for two babies but she didn't know how she managed. They completed the forty weeks and they were born healthy, though Benedict was bigger than David.

The voices and Sherlock's violin... that was extremely strange, that Benedict could still remember that.

How odd.

"Your father played the violin when you and your brother wouldn't stop kicking," Jane explained. "And those voices where your siblings asking you to stop moving."

"Why?"

Jane chuckled. "You kicked far too much. It hurt."

Benedict looked sorry. "I'm sorry, Mummy."

"Don't be sorry, Poppet. It's natural for babies to move inside their mothers' tummies."

"Does the baby move, Mum?"

"Not much."

"Why?"

Jane ran a hand over her belly, very softly, but the baby didn't respond much to that. "I don't know. I guess it's sleeping now."

"Then it's always sleeping because it never moves."

"Maybe it's a lazy baby," Jane commented. "Besides, it's still very, very little."

"How little?"

Jane smiled and showed his son her open palm. "It's so little than it can fit here, in my hand."

Benedict pressed a kiss to her belly. "Mum?"

"Yes, Benny?"

"Whom d'you love the most?"

"I love all of you."

Benedict smiled. "You sure?" She nodded. "Cos between you and Dad... well, don't tell him, but I love you more."

Jane couldn't help but smile. "I love you too, Benedict."

"Will you be my Mummy forever?"

A little tear rolled down her cheek. "I will always be your Mummy, always. You'll be an old man, you'll have your own grandchildren and I will no longer be in this world, but I'll still be your Mummy."

* * *

**Week 21**

"Ugh, Mum, doesn't it hurt?"

Jane looked to her daughter who was all spread out on the sofa, reading a magazine. It was a sunny Sunday morning and they were alone in the flat. Sherlock had taken the twins to the park and Lock said he was spending the day with his boyfriend.

"What?

Sophie pointed at her growing baby bump. "Your skin."

"With the twins I experienced every single pain that comes with pregnancy. This is nothing."

The girl sat next to her mother and moved a hand to her baby bump. "How does it feel?"

"I feel like a planet and I still have twenty more weeks ahead," Jane replied with a smile.

"I wonder if the woman who had me inside her felt something for me."

'The woman who had me inside her', Sophie said. Jane noticed she didn't say 'my biological mother' or 'my mother'. Not only Jane but also Sherlock struggled to know how Sophia felt. She was a teenager now, she locked herself in her room and there were days in which she barely spoke to them. She was a bright student, had good grades, studied very hard, was good at hockey, had tons of friends and she was the best at her drama lessons. They were certain she was going to be an actress as she always dreamt of. And Jane and Sherlock were certain she was going to be huge, win all sorts of awards and be very famous.

However, they failed to know how she felt. She was a growing teenager and they knew by experience and because they were her parents that adolescents always struggle and experienced sadness. Adolescents experience sadness because they are in the middle between being a child and being an adult. They are becoming adults and they are leaving their childhood behind. They are changing their bodies, changing their voices, everything implied change and adolescents suffered.

"I'm sure she did."

Sophie placed her magazine on the table and rested her head on Jane's shoulder. "How can someone leave a baby? I don't... was I that bad?"

Jane held her hand. "You were lovely as a baby. You still are."

"But why she left me?"

Sophie was never told that she was found in a bin. Nor that her first adoptive father was not Sherlock but Matthew Morstan. And not even that, once discovered, Matthew Morstan, actually Sebastian Moran, wanted to kill her and that Sherlock saved her.

"Having a baby is the most beautiful thing in the world, but it can also be scary," Jane said softly. "When I had Hamish I was terrified. Then when I had all your other brothers I was scared too."

The teenager said nothing.

"We don't know what happened to her... maybe she was very young when you were born and she had no choice."

Sophie rolled her eyes and sighed. "Please, Mum."

"Maybe she didn't want to leave you."

"Do you think she's out there... somewhere?"

Jane shrugged. "Maybe."

"Do you think she thinks about me?" Sophie asked. "Do you think she regrets leaving me?"

Jane felt a contradiction inside her. She wished Sophie's parents regretted their decision of leaving her in a bin. Maybe her biological mother was very young, maybe she was scared, maybe she was alone and she had no choice. But Jane didn't want them to appear and take her daughter from her. Because Sophie was her daughter not because she had raised her, but because she loved her. Jane, and also Sherlock, loved Sophia with all their hearts and they considered Sophie their daughter, as if they had made her, as if she had always been their biological child.

"Your father and I could find her -"

"No."

"Sophia, it's OK," Jane said, embracing her daughter. "If you ever want to find your biological parents, your father and I can -"

"I don't want to know about them. You are my parents, not them. And I love you."

Jane wiped the tears off her daughter's face. "And I love you, because you're my daughter, OK?"

"And you're my Mum, OK?"

Jane nodded.

"I've got something to show you!"

The girl ran upstairs to her room and returned carrying a present wrapped with red paper. "Open it."

"Is it for me?"

"For the baby."

Jane tore the paper and caught her breath. It was that old teddy bear that had been Hamish, Lock, Sophie and the twins'. She had found it a few weeks ago and it was all covered with dirt, it had a missing eye and one arm was torn.

But now it looked as if it were new!

"I fixed it," Sophie said proudly. "Do you think the baby will like it?"

Jane smiled. "I'm sure he or she'll love it."

* * *

**Week 22**

"This is for you."

Jane looked at the wrapped package for a moment. It wasn't her birthday, it wasn't Christmas, not even Mother's Day.

Lock bit his lip. "Well, it's for the baby."

She opened it and smiled.

It was a bottle.

"As you and Dad refuse to know the gender, I had to buy that one," Lock said, talking about the plain transparent material and the white balloons painted on it. "It's made of a special plastic."

"It's lovely, Lock, thank you."

Lock looked at the cot and the few things her mother had bought in the pasts days. There were a few toys, two dummies, bedclothes, a yellow bag to carry nappies and clothes, nappies, some baby clothes and an old teddy bear he remember had been Hamish, then his, Sophie and the twins'. He had seen his sister sewing the stuffed animal some days ago and now it looked as if it were new.

The air in Baker Street changed the day his mother announced she was pregnant. Though all of them knew before she even said it, the air changed when his mother announced it. None of them were stupid to see the signs: their father stopped working and stayed at home most of the time only going out to get take away for dinner, to take the twins to school and then bring them back home, and when their mother had to go to the doctor's. Jane spent most of the day in bed, reading, sleeping. Lock knew pregnant women slept more than average because they needed to have rest not only for them but for their babies.

But their mother spent too much time in bed. She was paler, she always looked tired and even though the weeks passed, her baby bump was still little and the baby barely moved.

And it was not strange that neither of their parents wanted to know the gender. They had done the same when they were expecting him. When he was born Jane knew he was a boy and decided to name him after his 'dead' father.

The strange and worrying element was that neither of them knew what it was. Lock was able to tell what the baby was. But he was certain his father Sherlock was not lying when he said he couldn't tell.

Lock knew what was happening and when their little siblings asked, when Sophie told him she was worried because Mummy looked paler, or when the twins asked him why Mummy was always sleeping, Lock told them it was normal for a pregnant woman to either look paler than normal and sleep lots now. Lock would never dare to tell his little siblings what he knew.

"You think you'll die."

Silence.

"We all know something wrong is going on. And none of us want you to go. You're too young, Dad needs you. _We_ need you."

Jane said nothing. But when she blinked, tears rolled down her face.

"I know what it is," Lock said with a faint smile. "That baby will need you."

She cried, because she never saw that coming. She never imagined her son knew. She thought they didn't see it. But her son's revelation made her doubt about her words. And no matter how hard she tried, she knew her words would vanish, and that her son would never believe her.

"I won't leave you."

"You have to celebrate your twentieth anniversary with Dad," Lock said, wiping tears away as soon as they rolled down his face. "And you have to be here when Hamish, Soph and the twins have their own brats."

That made Jane smile just slightly.

"We'll be with you when the moment comes," Lock said, placing a shy hand over his mother's smallish baby bump. "And be certain we won't let you go."

As her son was taller than her, Jane allowed herself to bury her face into his chest and cry.

* * *

**Week 24**

It was a warm night. He was peacefully sleeping when he felt a slender, soft, warm hand moving under his tee, caressing his chest very softly, a faint touch. The detective opened his eyes and felt Jane's soft breathing close to his neck.

"Sherlock."

A soft whisper.

"What is it?"

"I can't sleep."

Sherlock rubbed his eyes open and sat on the bed. "Cuddle?"

"Please."

Another soft whisper.

It was late. It was a warm night, the windows slightly open just enough to let the air come in. The detective tossed and opened his arms for her. Jane snuggled up to him, resting her head on his shoulder and placing her hand on his chest. They tangled their legs and Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. He moved a hand under her head and felt her soft, soft sandy hair with his fingertips. This made him wonder whether that small baby she had inside her would have her hair. Hamish had inherited her hair colour, however, Lock and the twins inherited his dark curls and Sophie's was long, slightly curly brown hair.

Sherlock wanted their future baby to have Jane's sandy, soft hair.

Soft.

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

"It's not moving."

The detective moved a hand to the small of her back and rubbed her back softly. "The doctor said it was fine."

"It's not moving." She repeated.

The detective looked at the stethoscope next to Jane's bed, on her beside table. "Have you checked?"

A nod. "It's not moving."

Repetition.

Sherlock had to get used to that.

He lifted the silky material of her nightdress and caressed her baby bump. He traced a line from bellow her breasts, where her belly was growing, to bellow her belly button. He moved downwards, pressed a soft kiss to where they knew the head of their baby was and remained his position close to Jane's belly.

"Are you sleeping, baby?" He asked softly, as softly as his deep voice allowed him to. "Move a bit. Mummy's worried."

The detective returned to Jane's side and cupped her cheek with his warm hand. They looked into each other's eyes when her eyes lit up.

"It's moving!"

Sherlock kissed her softly. "It was just sleeping."

Jane took Sherlock's hand and moved it to her belly.

Their baby kicked.

A faint kick.

"It doesn't kick as much as the others did," Jane commented. "Its kicks are... weak."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to her forehead. "It's a lazy baby."

An excuse.

They lay together in their bed. Jane was tightly pressed against him whilst he was holding her hand which was resting on his chest. She pressed soft kisses to his neck and took deep breaths, taking his scent in.

"The children are betting again."

Jane smiled. "For the gender?"

"Hmm. Our nephew has been dragged into this. Oh, and I heard Greg, Annie, Mycroft, Anthea and even my parents put their money on it," Sherlock yawned. "Most said it's a boy."

"What d'you think it is?"

Sherlock closed his eyes. "I had always been able to tell in all your pregnancies... but this time I can't. And I don't want to."

Jane said nothing.

"I cannot foresee what will be of us in four months," Sherlock whispered to her ear. "Uncertainty is _frightening_." He moved a hand downwards and placed it on her small baby bump. It was too small for a six month pregnancy. "I'm scared."

Jane couldn't recall any other moment in which Sherlock had said such words. In which Sherlock had admitted he was scared.

Sherlock was never scared.

He shouldn't be.

"I won't go."

"You have no evidence, therefore, I can't believe you."

Silence.

"I will follow you if you go."

"You won't."

"There are many ways I can commit suici-"

Jane's grip on Sherlock's hand, which had been resting on her baby bump, tightened. "You won't follow me because they need you. All of them need you, even Hamish who already has his own life and this baby too."

Jane looked into Sherlock's eyes and found tears about to fall. She slowly kissed those tears and finally his lips. "I won't go. I know I won't."

"Swear to me you won't leave me," Sherlock mumbled, his eyes on hers. "I can't think of a life _without you_."

"I swear I won't leave you."

When they kissed and their bodies were tightly pressed together, Sherlock felt their baby kicking softly inside Jane.

Too soft.

Too small.


	14. Shining Light

**Week 28**

Jane opened her eyes from her sleep as soon as she heard two pairs of feet running outside the room, the twins' inquisitive voices, Sherlock hissing, telling them not to run and not to make noises because she was sleeping.

They almost kicked the door opened and ran next to her side as soon as their eyes found her lying on a hospital bed.

"Mummy! Are you OK?"

"What are you doing here, Mummy?"

"I'm just waiting to have some tests done," Jane replied softly. "How was school?"

Benedict snuggled close to her. "What kind of tests, Mummy?"

"Why are you here?" David asked worriedly.

"The doctors let me stay here till the tests are done. They are just checking the baby's OK," Jane replied softly, very softly and caressed their curly heads. "Nothing's wrong, Puppets."

From the end of the bed, Sherlock watched the scene before him in silence.

What was supposed to be a normal check up ended up in Jane being hospitalised because apparently there was blood. There were risks. And today she almost had their baby. The doctors said incoherent things that not even his extensive knowledge could understand. He saw Jane panicking, she was a doctor and she understood. When asked, she said she was fine. That everything was going to be fine. That their baby was fine.

"Is the baby coming now, Mummy?"

"No," She said, allowing her youngest children to climb on the bed and rest next to her. "The baby's still very little and needs to stay in my tummy."

Benedict tilted his head to the side. "For how long?"

"Twelve more weeks... more or less."

David placed a little hand on his mummy's tummy and then glued his ear to her belly. "It's making a strange noise!"

Jane smiled. "Maybe he or she wants to talk to you."

David and Benedict felt noises, but no movements.

"Why it never moves, Mummy?"

Sherlock sat next to Jane's bed and help them to get off the bed. "The baby needs to sleep. So does your mother. Say good bye."

"Can we stay?" both asked in unison.

"No. We're going home."

"Are you staying, Mummy?"

"Yes. I have to wait for the doctor."

Both kissed her and her belly and waved their little hands in farewell. Sherlock made them wait outside the hospital room and kissed Jane good bye.

"I'll call Mycroft. He can look after them -"

"Go home," Jane whispered. "Go home with the kids. We'll be OK."

"I can't leave you here -"

"It's OK," a reassuring smile. "There's food in the fridge. Check the twins have their bath. Sophie and Lock had to clean their room."

"I love you."

"I love you."

He placed a hand on her baby bump but felt nothing.

* * *

**Week 29**

"How's she?"

Sherlock waved his hand dismissively and continued reading the files. He refused to leave Jane's side till now, when Jane almost kicked him out the house. And by almost, she actually almost kicked him out.

"Have you ever heard of contraception?"

"It was an accident."

Oh. Greg was aware he was asking a very personal question. Jane and Sherlock were young, close to their forties but still young. However, they had a son in university, one in college, one teenager and two close to be ones. It was strange. It was going to be strange to see them with a baby when their oldest was old enough to get married and have his own family.

But Greg knew something wrong was going on. He'd known Sherlock since he was a teenager, more than twenty years ago. Greg was like a father to Jane and he always introduced Sherlock to the new people at the Yard as his son-in-law. He hand seen both Jane and Sherlock in their worst and best moments. He had arrested Sherlock for domestic violence when he hurt Jane and years later he had given her away when they got married again.

Sherlock said Greg was blind because he could not see things beyond. And Greg knew that some times Sherlock had helped him in obvious cases. But Greg, this time, was sure that what he was seeing was something not good.

"Accidents happen to teenagers -"

Sherlock cut him off. "We weren't looking for it. It just happened and I don't know how."

"You know how babies are made -"

Sherlock cut him off again. "We were taking precautions. She was told not to get pregnant or there could be risks."

Greg went silent.

"I can't feel it as mine." Sherlock confessed, not even meeting Greg's eyes. "I can't care for this baby as much as I _should_."

"I... I don't know what to say."

"Then don't say anything."

"When Annie was pregnant... we sort of had a crisis -"

"Spare me the details."

Greg sighed. "She blamed me because of all the weight she was putting on and because she was the one who had to feel the baby kicking in the middle of the night. She said it wasn't fair that she had to carry our child for nine months. People think we don't feel nothing, but we are terrified. Fuck, I was fucking terrified!"

Sherlock left the files on the desk and walked to the window. "She's not putting on weight and the baby barely moves. The doctors said it's too small."

Silence.

"I don't know what to expect."

Greg stood next to him and patted his back. "Everything's gonna be fine."

"You don't know that. You have no evidence."

The Detective Inspector just smiled reassuringly.

Something Sherlock noticed had been getting far too much.

* * *

**Week 30**

"I wish Mrs Hudson was here," Jane said as she realised her baby bump was growing and growing and now none of her jumpers fit her, but one she remember their landlady, who was like a mother to her, had knitted years ago, when she was expecting Lock.

Sherlock stood behind her and placed both hands on her waist and rested them on her belly. He looked into her eyes through the mirror before them. "I don't remember this one."

She smiled. "She knitted it for me after you died."

Ah. "You look beautiful."

"I look like a planet."

No she didn't. The only weight she had put on was the weight of the baby and not much. She was thin and wearing that jumper didn't make her look pregnant but like a woman who had put a ball or a balloon underneath her clothes.

How odd.

"You're a beautiful planet."

"I prepared the bag," Jane said. "From now on, it could be any day."

"It's still too early."

"The room's ready too."

The room had been prepared with all the children's help. Even Mark helped. Hamish painted the room white, Lock and his boyfriend Mark moved the furniture, Sophie organised the clothes in their respective drawers and helped with the general decoration and the twins cleaned the floors and the windows. In just a few days they had the room ready for their new brother or sister. As they didn't know what it was, but Lock, but he refused to say so, everything was white: the curtains, the bedclothes, the decoration.

Sherlock did nothing to decorate the room.

Elizabeth and Richard got expensive stuffed animals and toys for the baby, Anthea and Mycroft bought a special pushchair, some of Jane's friends sent more clothes and Greg and Annie had give them a nice little spare cot perfect for the living room.

"Why does this have to be here?" Sherlock asked, looking at the spare cot in the living room.

Jane smiled. "Because I'm sure he or she will love to hear you playing the violin."

Ah.

The detective returned to his experiments in the kitchen.

* * *

**Week 31**

They were having breakfast in the living room. Sherlock was on the phone, apparently a client was begging him to go to Scotland and find his missing son, whom Sherlock deduced had ran away with a girl the father didn't approve of.

Jane was sitting on her chair, a mug with tea in one hand and giggling uncontrollably when she felt the twins' hands on her belly.

David little fist made a movement as if he was knocking a door, but on his mother's belly, very softly.

Another knock.

"Anyone there?"

Jane noticed his eyes lit up as soon as the baby moved.

And kicked.

"It's kicking!"

Benedict leaned close. "Really? Let me feel it too!"

Benedict imitated his brother's movement and waited.

Another kick.

"Hello, baby!"

Both brother glued their ears to their mother's belly and waited.

"A sound! The baby made a sound!"

David pressed a kiss to Jane's baby bump, to where they had been told the head was and smiled. "Baby, can you talk?"

They waited.

"Another sound! The baby's talking to us!"

Jane laughed. "Maybe he or she wants to say hello!"

"Ugh, leave the baby alone, monkeys!" Sophie said.

Benedict stuck his tongue out. "You're just jealous cos the baby talked to us!"

Lock smiled and leaned close. "Baby, do you want these monkeys of brothers you have to stop being annoying?"

"A sound!"

"It said 'yes'," Lock joked.

David pouted. "You're lying!" then, he turned to Jane's baby bump. "Baby, do you want us to keep talking to you?"

Nothing.

"I'll take that as a no."

There was something funny in taking his children to school. A ten minute cab ride. One teenage girl looking herself in a little mirror, Lock sending texts to his boyfriend Mark and asking him to pick him up at noon, the twins already planning new mischiefs and how they were going to swap places for PE, Maths and English.

"Daddy?"

"Hmm?"

"Have you talked to the baby?" David asked.

What? "No."

"We talked today," Benedict said. "I think he or she can hear our voices."

"Like us. Have you played the violin for the baby?"

"No."

"Why?"

The cab stopped. The detective opened the door and stepped out and helped Sophie out and extended his hand for the twins. "Behave."

Sophie watched her twin brothers running to the school entrance and Lock already walking away. She noticed something wrong was going on, but she didn't know what it was.

"Daddy are you OK?"

"Hmm."

Sophie kissed his cheek. "I'm going to Alice's after school. Remember I've got my drama lessons."

"I know."

"Will you pick me up?"

"Yes."

"Can we get some ice cream later?"

Sherlock faked a little smile. "Of course."

* * *

"They said it can hear."

"Hmm?"

"The brats said it can hear," Sherlock sat across his wife and glued his hands together under his chin. "That it can talk."

Placing a hand on her baby bump, Jane winced when she realised that for Sherlock their baby had always been 'it'.

"He or she was kicking a bit the other day, when you and Lock were playing the violin."

"I thought you were sleeping."

"I listened to you from behind the door," Jane replied, already standing up and picking up the empty mugs left after breakfast. "We don't get to listen to you as much as -"

She stopped.

"Jane?"

Silence.

"Jane?" Sherlock walked to her and held her hand. He helped her to sit on a chair and knelt next to her. "Jane? Can you talk to me? Are you in pain?"

"It's nothing."

The detective frowned. He placed a hand on her belly and felt movement. A lot of movement.

Was this normal?

"It's moving."

She nodded slowly.

"Does it hurt?"

Another nod.

"Is it coming now?"

"No."

A whisper.

"What do I do?" Sherlock asked, his voice breaking. In panic. "Should I call a doctor?"

Jane blinked and several tears rolled down her face. She held Sherlock's hands and placed them on her baby bump. Her touch as soft, warm. It felt like the touches he remembered he felt when he had nightmares after coming back from the dead. Jane's soft, soothing voice and her warm hands on his were what always made him feel at home and not in a nightmare any more.

"I think he or she wants to feel you."

Sherlock looked at her confused.

When he pressed his ear close to her belly, he felt sounds and a kick straight to his face.

When he made himself comfortable between Jane's legs, rested his head on her lap and talked to her belly, the baby stopped moving.

It didn't hurt any more.

* * *

**Week 32**

The detective crossed his legs impatiently. He needed a cigarette so badly.

And he hated hospitals.

Far too much.

He had always hated them.

And tonight was not the exception.

His phone rang so many times he almost slammed it against a wall.

"Mr Holmes, you can go in."

Ah, finally. The detective stood up, buttoned his jacket and followed the doctor. He pretended there was no nervousness on him, but quite the opposite, because in fact, Sherlock was not only nervous but scared as well.

Scared to death.

Because tonight he was having his sixth child and tonight he may lose his wife.

"Hey."

She looked so fragile. Jane was sitting on a stretcher, she had just been given the epidural and the nurses and doctors were waiting.

But the detective knew the baby was coming now.

He was putting on a special gown to be present in the birth when Jane held his hand, tightly, and smiled at him lovingly.

A silent understanding.

"Why a normal childbirth? The doctor said a c-section."

"It's my last baby."

"You said it hurts."

"It's the most beautiful pain women experience."

"Can't they keep it inside? It's too early."

Jane winced and her grip on Sherlock's hand tightened.

It hurt.

"The baby wants to come now," she mumbled.

"It's a stubborn child."

Jane laughed. "Like you." She held his hand and smiled at him lovingly. "I want you to decide the name. I'll be too sleepy with all the drugs they're giving me."

"'Sherrinford'?"

"Your grandfather's name?" Jane smiled. "I like it."

"'Calliope'?"

"Any name you choose will be perfect."

"I... I haven't thought of any."

She merely smiled. "You'll know once he or she is in your arms."

And then, a scream in pain and tears.

Yep, it was definitely coming now.

And in mere seconds Sherlock found himself standing next to Jane and several nurses and doctors were around them. There was a round woman next to Jane, asking her to breath and relax.

Sherlock hated that. How can they expect her to be calm when a baby was coming and she could die? He was not stupid and none had said a word about it, but Sherlock knew it and he had evidence. There were doctors that were not paediatricians or obstetricians. Everything was ready to receive the baby and to help Jane because this pregnancy was a risky one.

And the detective realised that _now_.

Now that the baby was coming.

When he held her hand, her grip was faint.

And when he looked at her, she was breathing and she was relaxed.

"Push!"

She pushed and sweat was falling down her temples. A nurse pressed a hand to her forehead and talked to a doctor.

"She's feverish."

"What does that mean?" Sherlock asked, worried.

The doctor ready to receive the baby kept asking Jane to push, some doctors were preparing a stretcher, some nurses were ready for the baby and Sherlock felt desperate.

He felt helpless, useless there.

_Sad._

"The head's out!"

"One more..." Jane whispered and looked into Sherlock's eyes. "One more."

"Jane -"

"Push!"

And then, there it was. A small baby who at the beginning didn't move or cry until it was in Sherlock's arms.

In it's father's arms.


	15. Baby

Sherlock drank the last of that cheap, awful coffee made by an inexperienced, rather recent graduate nurse and frowned as soon as he registered the taste of that coffee that was bound to keep him awake for a few more hours. Then, he placed the empty cup on the small table next to the bed and finally returned to his original position on a chair with his arms folded over his chest, his legs crossed and his eyes lost on his wife.

They said, and by they Sherlock means doctors, that she should be up soon. That this was mere standard procedure and that the machines connected to her body were necessary.

Why Jane needed a machine controlling her heart?

And why she couldn't open her eyes?

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

The detective hated that sound. He hated hospitals. He hated the coldness of such places. He hated doctors and their stupid jargon. Sherlock hated hospitals, doctors, nurses, machines that controlled hearts and himself for not being able to control this and go back in time and try to remember that moment they made love and conceived that baby.

That baby.

That baby born weeks ago and that he still hadn't seen since then.

Twenty two days, thirteen hours, forty minutes and some seconds ago his sixth child was born and Sherlock could hardly remember what it looked like.

Or what it was.

_Was it a girl or a boy?_

The moment that tinny little baby was given to him first tears clouded his eyes and he let them fall as soon as his baby cried in his arms. That baby was crying in his arms, showing him it was a human being, a life, a crying child who was ready to fight and survive.

"You're beautiful." Escaped his lips, just before pressing a soft kiss to his baby's forehead.

The baby was so tiny, so little. It was so light in his hands. Sherlock could barely breath whilst holding his child, his sixth child, and his last. The baby cried in his hands and he couldn't help but smile, smile widely because that's what he felt: happiness. Every breath, every cry escaping his baby's lips was all.

And then everything was blurry.

The detective couldn't remember much of that moment, but then, when he turned to see his wife she was being taken away from him and doctors and nurses were running to and fro, there was lots of blood and then they said something about her heart.

He would see no one. He cared for no one but his wife.

Twenty two days later Jane had already been given blood transfusions and she still hadn't woken up. And the doctors said she would. Soon.

What 'soon' meant to them?

And for twenty two days Sherlock didn't leave her side.

Their three youngest cried and begged him to see the baby. They begged him to go home.

Sophia and the twins begged him to go home.

According to Mycroft Lock 'ran away', but he had tails on him and he knew he was staying at his boyfriend's flat. Hamish was staying in Baker Street and he was looking after Sophia, Benedict and David.

Sherlock refused to leave Jane's side.

Clothes had to be taken to Jane's room and that's how he lived next to her sleeping form for more than three weeks by now.

Every time he closed his eyes, he heard that crying, that child crying when it was placed in his arms.

_Was it a girl or a boy?_

Sherlock refused to see any one. Even his own children. Every time they went to see Jane, to see their mother, he went downstairs to get some coffee. He barely ate and when he did it, he only did it because he knew he needed energy to be by Jane's side.

"Are you fucking done playing the _victim_ here?"

Ah. Lock.

The detective barely showed some emotion. Lock's eyes were bloodshot. He had a faint stain on his shirt - recently made. Then, there was his hair, uncombed, his dark curls were a mess.

"Staying here twenty-four-seven won't bring her back," Lock added. "Move your clever arse and go back home."

Nothing.

He turned around and left.

Behind them were Benedict and David, who barely spoke to him every time they visited their mother. The one who suffered the most was David. It was so clear. David was Jane's little baby, that shy boy who would only cry in her arms every time he felt sad or when he and Benedict had a fight. He always ran to Jane's arms, always, even in the middle of the night when he had a nightmare.

Of course it hurt them to see their mother like that.

"How can you?"

Sherlock watched his daughter pointing at him with her index finger, as if scolding him.

Her brown eyes were bloodshot.

"There's a baby out there..." she said hoarsely. "Your _daughter_ is out there waiting for you and you are just sitting here all day long? Sitting here won't bring her back..."

Sherlock didn't meet her eyes. "Shut up, stupid child. You don't know what you're talking about."

"I know!" Sophia bellowed. "You're a heartless, selfish bastard!"

Without even thinking of what he was doing, Sherlock slapped his daughter hard across the face.

It wasn't until he saw the tears running down her face when he realised what he had done. She quickly pressed a hand to her cheek and sobbed loudly.

"Sophia -"

"We take turns to feed her... she's so beautiful," Sophia whispered, still crying. "She looks like Mum."

"I'm sorry."

"She doesn't even have a name. Uncle Mycroft and Auntie Anthea will take her with them because we can't look after her. He says you'd better see her and give her a name or he will name her 'Henrietta'." Sophia met Sherlock's crying eyes and quickly looked down.

Sherlock walked close to his daughter and tried to embrace her but she rejected his touch. "I love you."

"If you loved me you wouldn't have hit me," Sophie said coldly. "You wouldn't have called me _stupid_."

"Sophia -"

"Don't... don't do to her what they did to me. Don't leave her alone. She's your daughter and you're her father. You have to love her."

When Sophia left the room, Sherlock sat next to Jane and saw a tear rolling down her face, falling from the corner of her closed eyes. This made him wonder if she had listened to them in the deep of her long sleep.

* * *

It wasn't until the following day that Sherlock finally gathered some courage and went to the incubators' room. Once he was standing there, in front of twenty incubators or so, he saw his daughter for the first time. He needn't have to told which one was his, because it was obvious.

His was the first baby lying awake at the front.

"Do you want to see your daughter?" The young nurse asked him.

He just nodded and when he was given a chair to sit next to her, he could barely keep the tears in his eyes.

His baby was so beautiful. She was dressed in pink clothes and she even had a pink hat. Sherlock held her in his arms and realised how much she had grown. He remembered holding her when she was born and she was so tiny, so light in his hands. But now she was bigger, she was heavier and she wasn't crying this time.

This time his baby was wide awake, looking into his eyes and making strange sounds.

Baby sounds maybe?

"Hello."

The baby had deep blue eyes. Jane's eyes.

The detective took her small pink hat off. Her hair was very blond, almost white. Jane's hair.

Her skin was pale and his pinks were very pink. She had a round nose and short fingers. Jane's.

Sherlock smiled. His baby looked nothing like him. His baby looked like Jane.

Their daughter.

It was hypnotising to see his daughter. To hold her in his arms. To finally see her after so long.

And she kept looking at him as if he were a stranger. But of course he was. Sherlock knew every single member of their family had been there, had taken turns to hold her and feed her since Jane couldn't. Since Jane closed her eyes after bringing their baby to this world to not open them again.

This was the first time they were together. And two or three minutes after seeing her for the first time Sherlock already loved her.

He feed her her bottle and rocked her in his arms. He remembered feeding the twins and the feeling in his chest. The feeling of holding the product of his and Jane's love in his arms.

Sherlock shifted his baby in his arms and let her rest on his chest. He patted her little back softly and pressed a kiss to her forehead. The detective took a deep breath and took her scent in.

The detective noticed there was a pink bracelet on her left wrist and only a name written on it.

Watson-Holmes.

She still didn't have a name.

And then, he remembered Jane's words.

_You'll know once he or she is in your arms._

And then, by just looking at her, into her eyes, he just knew.

"Ah, so you finally decided to meet your daughter."

"You're not taking her."

Mycroft raised an eyebrow. "Dear brother, Hamish is not going to university to look after his siblings because their father refuse to go home."

Sherlock said nothing, his eyes on his daughter.

"They can't look after a baby."

"And they won't because I'm taking her home now."

"Are you?"

The detective just nodded. "And now excuse us, but I'm taking my daughter to see her mother."

* * *

That same day Sherlock took his baby to Jane's room. He sat with her in his arms and watched her sleeping. She looked like Jane... she was Jane. She looked nothing like him or like any of his children.

She was Jane.

And then, the realisation.

Because Sherlock knew he never felt attached to that baby. He never wanted her. He never loved her as much as he knew Jane did. He wasn't expecting her, loving her, and dreaming about her as much as Jane did.

For those thirty-two weeks that that baby had been inside Jane, Sherlock never felt her as his.

Maybe that was the reason why this baby looked like Jane and not like him.

Because it had always been Jane's baby and not his.

And now Jane was lying on a hospital bed. Her eyes had been close since that baby was born and now she was his. That baby Sherlock never felt like his was only his now.

Until Jane woke up or until she died.

"I'm taking our daughter home," Sherlock whispered to his wife now that their baby was deep asleep in his arms. "You'd better wake up soon because I won't be the only one changing nappies."


	16. She

When the detective stepped into the living room of the flat, he found it empty. The telly was on and there were some DVD's spread on the table, the twin's DVD's, a script Sophia was reading for a school play and the spare cot was there, close to the sofa.

Being as much careful as he could he placed his daughter there and went to the kitchen, where they were. They all went silent when they saw him.

And before he could even say a word Sophia stood up, walked past him and climbed the stairs to her room.

"I brought your sister."

"Dad, are you staying?"

Sherlock merely caressed David's dark curls and fake a little smile. "Yes."

"And Mummy?" Benedict asked.

All of them already feared the worst.

"She needs to have some rest."

They all ate dinner calmly. The twins told Sherlock things about the new neighbours next door, about the days they spent at Mycroft's, the games they played with their cousin Tim and the delicious food their uncle's maid prepared. Suddenly everything was out of place. All of them were sitting at the table, all of them but Jane.

The fact Jane was missing made everything different.

"Go back to Manchester."

"I won't."

"Staying here won't bring her back."

Hamish looked sad. "I can't leave you alone with the brats."

"You're their brother, not their father," Sherlock said, his eyes on his son's. "You're missing lectures."

"I don't care. I want to be with Mum."

Silence.

Everyone had already left the table and they were alone. Hamish broke in tears and wiped them off his eyes quickly, as if he was ashamed of crying. As if he was ashamed of crying in front of the man he loved as if he was his biological father.

"I can't see her like that... I... I need my Mum," Hamish whispered. "I remember when I was two. She was studying the bones of the hand and I remember... I remember her taking my hand and explaining to me why this finger was longer than the other and..." he looked at Sherlock. "I remember her saying she will always be with me."

"When we got married, I remember that in our wedding night I held her hand," Sherlock said. "And both promised each other we will always be together. Your mother is far too loyal to break her promises."

Hamish smiled weakly. "I'd better go to bed. Last night Lock didn't let me sleep with his violin."

When the detective found himself alone in the kitchen, he started picking up the dirty dishes when he heard his baby crying. He picked her up in his arms and held her tightly against his chest.

"Hungry?"

The baby only stared at him.

Sherlock prepared a bottle and fed her. Such a thing he loved to do, that he enjoyed to do was clouded when he realised Jane should be the one feeding her. Jane should be awake, she should be breastfeeding their baby. Their baby should be fed with her milk and not with formula. Jane should be awake and she should be with then now.

The baby started coughing and vomiting the milk.

"You have to feed her slowly."

Sherlock looked up and found his daughter standing on the door frame.

"You have to do it slowly or she will choke," Sophie said, walking close to him and taking the bottle in her hands. "Let me."

The detective give her the baby and Sophie started feeding her slowly.

"See? This way she won't choke. And you have to stop now and then to give her time. She doesn't drink much at this hour of the night."

They remained silent for a moment, until the baby drank half the bottle Sherlock had prepared fell asleep. Sophia rocked her in her arms slowly and finally placed her in the spare cot in the living room.

"Grandma taught me," Sophia said, sitting next to his father. "She thinks she won't be alive to see me having my own babies."

"You'll be a wonderful mother."

Sophia didn't say anything.

"I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have called you those horrible words."

"No, you shouldn't. I'm your father. But I understand you were under a state of sadness and angriness," the detective caressed her long hair and pulled her closer. "And I shouldn't have hit you, nor call you stupid."

"I deserved that slap."

The detective kissed her cheek. "You deserve all the gold of this world. Not a slap."

Sophia merely smiled and Sherlock wondered if the new baby would be like her. He wondered what will be like to raise two daughters now. And he still didn't know if he will have to do it alone.

"You think Mum's gonna be OK?"

"You told me you'd been taking turns to feed her," Sherlock said, ignoring her question and standing up to take his daughter to her room. "Tell me how frequently she needs to be fed."

* * *

Sherlock wondered if Jane had experienced the same feeling he had on his chest. He slept just a few hours every night and he spent most of the night sitting next to the cot, watching his daughter sleeping, thinking, trying to foresee what could possibly happen. He kept staring at his phone too, as if it was about to ring and the doctors will tell him Jane was awake.

Alive.

He felt alone. Even though he wasn't, physically speaking, because all of his children were at home, even Hamish who refused to go back to uni and decided to stay at home.

But he felt alone. Sherlock felt alone. He couldn't stand lying on his bed alone, without Jane. He couldn't stand the silence of their room, and he missed Jane's voice, her touches. Sherlock missed her and he wished, more than anything in the world, to have Jane back to him, to his family and to that baby girl who was one month old and she still hadn't met her mother.

"She sleeps all night long. She cries when she's hungry or when she needs a change," Sherlock said. "All the brats are helping. Hamish cooks, the twins wash the dishes, Locks does the shopping and Sophie helps me with the baby."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"My mother insists I should hire a maid."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"Greg and his wife are going to New York for a week. They invited the brats." Sherlock said, now his eyes on his baby who was peacefully sleeping in her pushchair. "My parents invited them to Euro Disney. They refused. They say they are waiting for you."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"For God's sake, my father can't even walk and he invited them to Disney."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"People die every day. My parents are dying. But the one I can't possibly live without is _you_."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"She looks a lot like you. She's got your hair, your eyes, your nose," Sherlock said, a tears rolling down his face. "Even your lips. You always joked the brats looked and were like me but... she looks like you."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

"She's you."

* * *

Jane turned thirty-eight and she was still in hospital. It had been long days and weeks and she still hadn't opened her eyes.

And their baby was now two months old.

"People in comatose state can hear and feel."

Sherlock remained silent.

"I remember Mum reading me stories. I even remember you telling me you'd be back soon." Hamish, a young man of almost twenty-one said. "Mum said it was a dream, but I knew you'd been here with me."

Hamish was holding his little sister in his arms when he slowly placed her on Jane's chest. The baby settled on her mother's chest and closed her eyes, those beautiful deep blue eyes she had inherited from her mother.

He caressed his mother's sandy hair and smiled. "Wake up soon, Mum. We miss you. And this baby here needs you. She needs to hear your voice."

_Beep. Beep. Beep._

* * *

Every time he visited his wife, Sherlock remembered all the moments they had lived together since they met more than twenty years ago until now. He could easily remember the day he noticed her for the first time in school. Jane had long blonde hair she braided and secured with a blue hair band. He remembered watching her walking back home, limping.

Sherlock remembered the prom party, the first time they danced together. And their afternoons after school doing experiments, watching Doctor Who. Jane had been and still was his best friend. She liked to listen to him playing the violin and she once told him he was surely going to be a famous violinist, travelling around the world, playing with the best orchestras.

The detective even remembered the moment he realised he loved Jane Watson. Sherlock remembered enjoying every moment they spent together hanging around in each other's houses, doing experiments, playing the violin and the clarinet, watching Bond films and just being friends. He even remembered being jealous when Jane introduced him to Sam Sawyer, the man he knew was going to break her heart.

The man that gave them Hamish.

And then, all those moments he remembered had been the best, and happiest moments of their life together were clouded when he recalled those moments in which he hurt her. When they were so young, as young as their son Lock is when they got married, when he met cocaine, when Jane was expecting Hamish and when they realised both were meant to be together. Sherlock could remember the yelling, Jane silently crying next to him on their bed after he had yelled at her, after he had hurt her feelings.

Sherlock asked himself if what was happening to him now was a punishment for hurting Jane they way he did. If this was happening because of that night he hurt Jane in the most unforgivable way a man can possibly hurt a woman. And not only her but Hamish as well.

He spent three years away from her, away from Hamish and then he promised himself, once they met again, that they would never be apart again. But then, Moriarty appeared and he was determined to kill him. To see him dance and finally see him dying. Then he had to spend three years away from Jane, Hamish and Lock. And when he returned, he had to see her with another man, he had to see his own children being raised by another man. So when they were together again, Sherlock promised both of them that they would always be together.

Always.

So why was this happening?

Why?

Jane was so young. She still had a life ahead, six children and a husband.

She had to live.

Every time he visited his wife, Sherlock placed their baby on her chest. The baby closed her eyes and settled on Jane's chest. Sherlock believed patients in comatose state could hear and feel.

And he was sure Jane could feel their baby.

* * *

"My seventh grandchild," Elizabeth said, admiring the baby sleeping in the cot that used to be Mycroft's and Sherlock's. "She is beautiful."

"What will I do, Mummy?"

Elizabeth merely curled the corner of her lips upwards. "I cannot remember when was the last time you called me 'Mummy'."

"The day before I told you Jane was my girlfriend and that she was pregnant."

Ah. "Since the moment you started walking and refused your father and my help I knew you were going to be independent."

"I can't live without her. I don't know what I will do."

As he did when he was a toddler, Sherlock rested his head on her mother's lap and cried.

For the first time in many, many years, Sherlock allowed himself to cry in his mother's arms.

"You have lived without her -"

"But it's not the same!"

"Of course it is not," Elizabeth caressed his son's dark curls and smiled when she spotted a few white hairs. "I know my words won't stop your tears and the sadness in your heart. But you have to think you have six children. And they need their father."

Sherlock remained silent, but more tears were rolling down his face.

"You have to be present when Hamish gets his degree and becomes a doctor. When Lock returns from his first trip around the world. When Sophia appears in the papers and wins her first award. You have to be present when the twins become men and to see your baby growing up." Elizabeth said softly. "Life continues when our beloved one dies."

"What will I do?"

"I imagine the same thing I will when your father leaves." Elizabeth whispered. "I cannot accept the fact he is dying. But I cannot change it. He is tired and I have to let him go." Then, she smiled weakly. "And I am staying for you and your brother. For my seven grandchildren who like my chocolate cake."

Sherlock sat next to his mother. "I don't want you to die."

"You will live without us," his mother reassured him with a smile. "It is natural for you to see your parents dying, not your partner, nor your children. That is the way life should be, Sherlock," Elizabeth held his son's hand. "Sons and daughters should be able to bury their parents and not the other way around. So do not say you have no life without Jane, because you do. You have six children and they need you. You have to see them becoming adults, having their own family. I am sure you will have lovely grandchildren and even though Jane may not be with you then, you will thank life to be alive to see your children happy."

* * *

"I should have named you 'Jane', like your mother," Sherlock whispered to his baby who was wide awake in his arms. "It would have suited you."

Silence.

* * *

"Remember the day you asked Daddy to marry you?"

Sophie blushed deeply. "Benny, shut up!"

"You said you wanted to marry Daddy!" Benedict said, already laughing. "And you told him -"

"Enough!" Sophia said, hitting Benedict in the head with a magazine.

"Time to go home," Sherlock said, standing up taking his baby's bag.

Each child kissed Jane good bye, even Hamish. The eldest, knowing his father needed a moment alone, promised the others ice cream and all of them ran outside the room, leaving the detective and Jane alone.

Sherlock took their baby off Jane's chest. She had been sleeping on Jane's chest since they arrived and now it was time to go home.

"Time to go home, Eleanor."

"Shining light?"

The detective's eyes widened when he heard her voice.

Her blue eyes were open and she was smiling at him weakly.

And she looked so fragile.

"It suits her." Sherlock said with a happy smile.

And slowly, he bent down and pressed a soft kiss to Jane's lips.

"I love you."


	17. Little Eli

**Six months**

Jane opened her eyes slowly, very slowly and closed them again. She was tired, far too tired to think of what she had just seen. However, she forced herself and focused on the man standing a before her, on the corner of their room, holding a little pink bundle and talking.

"And then Greg said it was impossible. How could it have been impossible if there was evidence enough to prove the mother-in-law was the killer!"

What? "Sherlock?" Jane asked, leaving the bed and putting on her dressing gown and walking towards her husband and their daughter. "Are you telling Eleanor about your cases?" she asked sleepily, rubbing her eyes and then rested her head on his shoulder.

"I'm not simply 'telling' her about my cases, she's _listening_ ," Sherlock corrected her. "We can't sleep."

"Do you want me to hold her so you go back to bed?"

Sherlock merely kissed his wife's lips and then focused on their baby. "I've been looking through your pictures as a baby. She looks exactly like you."

"She's more beautiful."

"Nonsense. Eleanor's beauty comes from you, therefore you're more beautiful than her."

"I always thought she would be a girl with dark curls like yours," Jane commented. "With your eyes, your lips. Your genes had always been stronger than mine."

Sherlock smiled just a bit. "This time yours were stronger because you always wanted her."

Silence.

Jane remained silent and let the moment help her to forget what Sherlock had just implied. They were standing in front of their daughter's cot, the same cot that had been used by their first child, Hamish, briefly, but at least used by him and then by all of his brothers, Jane and Sherlock's children: Lock, Sophia, the twins and now it was Eleanor's. It was late, dark, slightly warm. They could hear nothing but silence. Sherlock continued rocking their baby in his arms, trying to help her to fall asleep and Jane just remained there, standing next to him, her blue eyes on the cot, on the teddy bear she remember Sherlock got for Hamish after the first time he hurt her.

She knew Sherlock never wanted Eleanor. Well, he didn't want her as much as he had wanted the others. He was glad she could bear more children, of course, because after the twins they were told the chances of having more children were slim. But as soon as he knew she could die, that her life was in danger, Sherlock cut himself off her and the baby she was carrying inside her.

That Sherlock had always been with her when she had to go to the doctor's, that was true and no one could deny that. That he helped her with the chores, that he caressed her belly, that he loved her as much as he had always done... nothing changed. Now when they went to bed and they cuddled there was something between them, and Sherlock caressed her belly in a futile attempt to feel something, but nothing. Sherlock felt nothing.

And Jane was aware of that.

But it was no one's fault that Sherlock couldn't love their baby as much as he wanted to. That baby was a bomb. That baby, if the worst had happened, would have been a reminder of Jane's death. So when Eleanor was born and Jane closed her eyes to not open them again for long weeks and almost three months, Sherlock could feel nothing towards that baby. He even refused to meet his baby until Eleanor was almost one month old. After holding her in his arms for five minutes he realised he loved her and he even knew which name was perfect for her.

And since that day he could no longer let Eleanor go.

"Remember she always kicked for you?"

Sherlock chuckled.

"As if she wanted you to notice her," Jane smiled bitterly. "And now she won't stop crying unless she's in your arms."

"I hate myself for it."

"Hmm?"

Sherlock turned to her. "I hate myself for not loving her, for not wanting her. I made the same mistake again."

"No -"

"I hurt you _again_ ," Sherlock whispered as he bent down and placed Eleanor on the cot. "You were carrying my child, and I neglected you. Mycroft told me I should be grateful to have been given all the children I wanted," the detective made a pause and held Jane's hand. "And for you."

Jane was on tiptoes when her lips brushed Sherlock's and still hand in hand, she led the way to their bed. Once they were in their bed facing each other, Jane kissed Sherlock's lips and assured him everything was OK.

"You gave me six children and I gave you nothing."

"Hush," She kissed him again.

* * *

**One**

"Can you say Sophia?"

"Can you say David?"

"No, don't say that," Benedict told his little sister. "Say 'Benedict'. 'Be-ne-dict'..." the eleven year old boy frowned. "Come on Eli, say my name!"

Lock looked up from his place on his chair and rolled his eyes. "Leave her alone."

"Yeah. She will talk when she feels like it, not when you want her to." Hamish said.

"But the other day she was trying to say something!"

Jane sat next to his eldest children. "Really? When was that?"

"I was feeding her when she mumbled something," Sherlock said as he took Eleanor on his arms and placed her on his lap. "She must be trying to say her first word."

They were all in the country house. It was a sunny, hot summer day and the Holmes' family was in the garden. All of them were sitting drinking tea and the twins and Sophie cold chocolate milkshakes. They had been told that Jane needed fresh air so they decided to spend the summer holidays there. Mark, Lock's boyfriend, had also been invited to join the family, as Hamish's new girlfriend Olivia, so they were quite a lot of people.

Both Jane and Sherlock remembered going there when she was expecting Lock and when Hamish was just a toddler. Now many years later they were not three but ten people and everything was different. Suddenly the house was full of noises, full of people going from one place to another, all the rooms were taken and every meal all together was pure noise.

And it felt like home.

Eleanor had just turned one year old and she was her parents' baby. As she was the little one of the family she was very spoilt by everyone, even her older siblings. Hamish and Lock, as well as their partners, were always getting her new clothes, pink dresses and toys. And for her first birthday Sophia and the twins got Eleanor a very big stuffed bear three times her size! Her grandparents loved her as well, and the Holmes' and Greg and his wife were always getting her new toys and so on.

But the ones who spoilt little Eleanor the most were Jane and Sherlock.

And even when Jane was the one always dressing Eli in pink, colourful dresses and braiding her blonde hair and making herself sure her daughter always looked beautiful, Eleanor was Daddy's little girl.

Sherlock's little girl.

'Eli', as most of the family called her, liked to be in Sherlock's arms and listen to him playing the violin. Eli liked to sit on Sherlock's lap, rest her head on his chest and listen to her Daddy Sherlock's heartbeats. That's how she always fell asleep. In her Daddy Sherlock's arms.

"Can't sleep?"

As soon as Sherlock took Eli in his arms, he pressed a kiss to his daughter's pink cheek and closed his eyes, taking a deep breath and taking her scent in. Eli smelled like Jane.

The detective walked with his daughter downstairs, where he sat on his armchair and cuddled little Eli.

"I remember my mother singing to me a lullaby when I couldn't sleep," Sherlock whispered. "I never sang to any of your siblings. They'll think I'm spoiling you."

Eli smiled.

And Sherlock loved that smile.

_"You are my baby. My most precious baby. Daddy loves you... Daddy loves you -"_

"Daddy!" Eli said with a wide smile, cutting her Daddy Sherlock's singing.

Sherlock's eyes widened. "Say that again."

Silence.

"Say that again."

Silence.

"Eli _please_ , say that again!"

"Daddy!"

* * *

**Three**

"Daddy?"

Sherlock stirred, but remained his position on his bed. He was spooning his wife and the last thing he wanted was to leave the bed. He was far too comfy to move.

"Daddy?"

But then, even though he was deeply asleep, he heard a small, tiny whispering noise calling his name. He tossed slowly, being careful not to wake up Jane and opened his eyes to find a bare feet three-year-old girl with long blonde hair sucking her thumb and pressing an old teddy bear to her chest.

"Hmm?"

"Daddy?" Eli whispered and pulled at the duvet. "Can't sleep. Monster."

The detective slowly pulled the duvet and held his arms open for his daughter to climb onto the bed. As soon as she was in his arms, he closed his eyes again and let out a long sigh. "I never allowed any of your siblings to sleep in my bed after a nightmare."

"Poo Bear scared."

"Was he?"

Sherlock felt Eli nodding. "'m scared, Daddy."

"Don't be. I'm here now," Sherlock whispered. "The monster won't hurt you."

Eli closed her eyes and pressed a kiss to his Daddy's cheek. "Daddy?"

"Yes, Eli?"

"I love you."

Sherlock chuckled. "I love you too, sweetheart."

* * *

**Five**

"Mummy, where we going?"

"Manchester."

"Why?"

"Because Hamish's getting his degree and he's getting married."

"Mish's gonna have babies now?"

"I don't know. Maybe."

"Mish said that if he has a baby I'll be an auntie."

"Yes, you'll be an auntie."

"Your brother is not having children any time soon," Sherlock interrupted. "We're far too young to be grandparents."

Jane smiled. "It isn't his fault that we were seventeen when he was born. He'll have his children when he wants to, not when you think it's suitable for him to make us grandparents."

The only ones left at Baker Street were the twins and Eli. Hamish had already established himself in Manchester years ago and he was getting his degree and marrying just in a few days. Lock was twenty-three and was somewhere in South America travelling. Sophia moved out and was sharing a flat with a friend and going to several auditions for tv series and films. The twins were in the last year of school and they were to join the Army soon. Even though they knew neither of their parents were happy with it, they were happy with their choices. Benedict and David both wanted to join the Army, but David wanted to be a pilot. They were very good at sports and went to the gym every day and worked very hard to be fit for what they knew was to come soon.

So there were days in which the only child left was Eli.

And everything was so different.

It was different to raise a little girl now that they were in their forties and not in their twenties. They were wiser. But with Eli they were too good. They spoilt her all the time. And even though they knew it was a bit not good to do that, they just couldn't help it. Not when Eli was their last child and the little one of the family.

Little Eli climbed onto her parents' bed. "Mum, I wanna a little brother or sister."

"That's not happening, sweetheart."

"Why?"

"Because I can't have more babies. Why do you want a brother or sister? You've got five."

Eli pouted. "All of them are big and they won't play with me."

Sherlock sat next to her and caressed her long blonde hair. "We could get you a dog."

"A dog? Really?"

"Sherlock!" Jane scolded him.

"They always asked for one," Sherlock remember his wife. "Every time they asked, one of them was either a baby or a toddler. We're not having more babies in this flat. We might as well get Eli a dog."

A few days after Hamish's wedding, Sherlock arrived home carrying a little basket and there was a very little English bulldog inside. It had a blue ribbon on its neck and it was white with some brown patches.

"It's beautiful!" Said Eli excited. "It has a weird face."

"It's an English Bulldog. One of its main characteristics is its face."

Jane looked at the dog slightly disappointed. "We agreed we were getting her a small breed."

"This one is better."

"You got an English bulldog because this is the one she wanted, right?"

Sherlock said nothing.

They had agreed to get her a little dog. Bulldogs are small, but they wanted a smaller one for Eli. But apparently Eli insisted she wanted a bulldog like the dog in her siblings' old books.

"How are you going to name it, darling?" Jane asked.

Eli bent her head. "Can I choose any name I want?"

"Yes."

"Sherlock!"

"You're not using my name to name a dog!"

Eli giggled. "It was a joke, Daddy! Its name is Gladstone!"

Later that night, when the twins arrived home and met the dog, both really liked it. It was a puppy after all and who doesn't like puppies? However, they said it wasn't fair they got Eli a dog when they had asked for one since they were little.

"It's not fair!"

David nudged his twin brother. "Ben, shut up. She's just five!"

"Do you like Gladstone?" Eleanor asked with a bright smile.

And then, after seeing her smiling, Benedict and David couldn't help but feel happy for their little sister. "Yes, he's a good dog."

"Can you take me to the park tomorrow?" Eli asked her twin brothers, "And can we take Gladstone for a walk?"

Both twins smiled. "Of course."


	18. Big Brothers

**Benedict - 17**

"WHAT?"

Jane almost drop her fork. Sherlock's eyes widened. Eleanor looked at her parents and her twins brothers confusedly and waited. She was six years old, almost seven, and she knew what Benedict had just said was a bit not good. The gold haired little girl pulled at her Daddy's sleeve.

"Daddy, do I have to go to my room?"

"Yes."

"Can I take food to my room?" Eli asked her Mummy, who went pale. "I'm hungry."

Jane just nodded and Eli left the table carrying her plate with food and her glass with water.

David didn't know what to do. The situation was entirely Benedict's. It was Benedict's problem. Benedict's bad doing. It was Benedict's girlfriend, or whoever she was. It was Benedict and their parents that had to talk. Not him. David really preferred to go and play video games or read stories to his little sister rather than staying and listening to what his twin brother had to say.

"Can I go -"

"Say that again."

Benedict let out a long sigh.

"Say that again." Sherlock repeated, impatient this time.

Seventeen-year-old Benedict knew there was no coming back.

"Crystal thinks she's pregnant."

No that again.

" _Thinks?_ " Jane repeated.

"If she _'thinks'_ ," Sherlock said, his eyes on his son. "You wouldn't be telling us. Why are you telling us if -"

"Because I _can't_ deduce it." Benedict admitted.

"Didn't you use protection?" Jane asked angrily. "And who's Crystal for God's sake?"

"No one."

No one? "How old is she?"

"Sixteen."

Jane covered her face with her hands. "Oh, God. Didn't you know she could get pregnant? Are you really _that_ stupid?"

"You have no right to call me stupid when you did exactly the same thing." Benedict spatted.

Silence.

"You're not talking to me like that," Jane said angrily. "I'm your mother."

Benedict shrugged, as if he was again a ten year child being scolded after breaking a glass or something like that. "And I'm not having that child -"

"What do you mean?" Sherlock asked.

Benedict shrugged. "She's getting an abortion."

Silence.

"I want to join the Army. And I don't even love her, she just had a good arse and -"

"Don't you dare," Jane said.

"-she was good in bed."

Jane bit her lip and felt angriness in her chest. Sherlock remained silent, his eyes on his son who had just revealed a girl he had only slept with one time might be pregnant.

His suggestion of the abortion made them sick.

Angry.

"I'm disappointed in you," Sherlock said. "I thought you clever enough to think and put on a condom."

Silence.

"She's not getting an abortion. You're going to face your responsibilities."

"Dad -"

"I don't care if you want to join the army," Sherlock said sharply, cutting his son off. "You're going to stay here and raise your own child."

Benedict looked down. " _She_ 's the one who wants to get rid of it. Not _me_."

"What?" Jane gasped.

A few days later Benedict confirmed his parents that girl he had been with, Crystal, was not pregnant. Both Jane and Sherlock were relieved. They knew his son was not ready to have his own family. He was far too young. Benedict was seventeen, he was as old as they were when Jane was expecting Hamish and he was not ready, he was just a child.

No one is ever ready to become a parent.

And Jane and Sherlock had entertained the idea of having a grandchild. What it would look like, what kind of father their son could be. They knew Benedict had made a mistake, he had admitted it himself, but he also confessed his parents that even when it had been a mistake, he would have never wanted to abort that child. He wanted to be responsible and give it his name and raise it.

"If you wish to join the army, next time think with your brain and not with your penis." Sherlock told his son after a long talk.

* * *

**Lock - 19**

"We're good friends."

"I'm sorry, sweetheart," Jane said.

Lock smiled. "It's OK. It's not the end of the world. We just want different things, that's all."

After almost two years together, Lock and Mark decided to end their relationship. Lock wanted to travel all around the world and maybe study Biology. Mark wanted to study Arts and his band was a bit famous now. Lock wanted to travel around the world and Mark was travelling all around the UK. They were heading to entirely opposite directions and they just couldn't find a way to make it work any more.

Lock continued feeding his baby sister Eleanor until she was asleep in his arms. He placed her on the spare cot in the living room and picked his father's violin.

"I'm going to Fiji."

"Fiji?"

"Hmm," Lock started cleaning the strings. "I was told it's a good place to do some research. I'm leaving tomorrow."

It hurt his parents. Lock was the second child leaving Baker Street. Hamish had already done so some years ago and now it was Lock's turn now. Both knew in a few years Sophie was surely going to leave them too, to live with her best friend Alice as she always said she would.

Jane smiled bitterly. "I might as well prepare a nice dinner for you."

Jane prepared pasta and Sherlock bought wine. The whole family, but Hamish who was in the north studying, was present; Elizabeth, Mycroft, Anthea and Tim and even Richard who was very ill too.

"Send pictures," Richard said tiredly. His voice was a mere whisper. "Don't forget to write letters too."

"That's a fit old fashioned, Grandpa," Lock said. "What happened to the I pad I got you?"

"I don't know how that thing works."

The night ended with Lock promising his whole family he was going to call, write and send lots of pictures. He even promised his grandfather a bottle of the famous wine from Australia and his grandmother, his aunt and his mother souvenirs from the places he visited.

"Are you taking your sun glasses and sun blocker too?" Jane asked his son. "Remember -"

"Yes, Mum."

"Are you taking -"

"Yes," Lock cut his Dad off. "I won't be able to investigate bees without a good microscope, will I?"

Sherlock hugged his son. "I'll miss you. Take care of you, son."

Jane kissed his cheek and hugged him tightly. "I don't think I can let you go."

"I'll be back soon, don't worry." Lock took his air plane ticket and started heading to his plane to Fiji. "Don't let the twins touch my CD's!"

Three months later Lock was back. And he only stayed for two days when he decided to travel to Africa, only to return six months later for Christmas only.

Jane and Sherlock had to get used to the idea his son Lock was meant to explore the world rather than staying in one place.

Their home wasn't Lock's home any more. Lock's new home was the whole world.

* * *

**Sophia - 21**

"Daddy, he's Andrew," Sophie said with a wide smile. "Andy, darling, he's my Daddy Sherlock."

The day had come.

The day Sherlock had always wished that would never come... his little princess Sophia was introducing her boyfriend to the family.

To him.

Sophie had a boyfriend. And apparently she was serious about him, otherwise she wouldn't have brought him home.

Sophie was dating a man Sherlock didn't approve of. And he was just in front of him. A man who was five years older than his daughter, who had a prestigious name, was a recently graduated accountant already working in one of his father's banks.

Andrew John Henry Clinton was the son of an important bank manager, belonged to a noble family, was friends with - very, but very good friends - with the two princes of England and Sherlock remembered his daughter saying something about a certain Duke of Newcastle. Unimportant to him, already deleted. Andrew Clinton was as tall as Sherlock was. He had dark hair combed to the side, almond shaped blue eyes, pale complexion, long, strong limbs and Sherlock deduced he liked horse riding. Polo player.

Andrew, surprisingly enough, took Sherlock's hand firmly. "Nice to meet you, Mr Holmes. Sophie told me an awful lot about you." He said politely.

"Really?" Sherlock asked. "Because my daughter haven't told me thing about you."

Sophie giggled. "Daddy! I told you about Andrew!"

"I deleted it."

Andrew laughed, nervously. "Deleted it?"

Sophie waved her slender hand and smiled. "Don't mind him."

And then, it was time to meet the rest of the family.

Jane really liked Andrew. She knew he was a good man and who had the best of intentions with her daughter. Eleanor, who was a mere eight year old little girl said she liked him too.

But it was not the case of Sophie's older brothers.

The twins had returned from their first deployment. Every time Sophie asked, the twins kept saying it was luck they had returned home just when she was introducing her boyfriend to the family. However, Sherlock had personally moved his own contacts and tried not to ask Mycroft, but at the end he had to, because the detective had no connections with the government. In two days Sherlock managed to drag the twins from Afghanistan back to London because Sophia was bringing her boyfriend home for the first time.

Lock had also returned from another of his mysterious trips around the globe. He said he wanted to see the family before going to South America for nine months, where he was meant to study Biology. However, that was not true because Sherlock bribed him with an important sum of money that would eventually cover his future trips around the world if he came to London because Sophie was introducing her boyfriend to the family.

Even Hamish who was living in the north went to London to meet the famous 'boyfriend'. Hamish, who was already married and had his own life, came back to London to meet his little sister's boyfriend. This time Sherlock didn't need to call Mycroft to use his connections with the government and the military service, nor he had to offer his son a high sum of money for his presence. Because this time, Hamish said he wanted to see 'the git' himself.

Hamish, as the twins and Lock were very protective over their little sister Sophia.

And they plus Sherlock were not going to let any stupid man hurt Sophia.

They were all in the living room chatting when Lock made a gesture to her little sister Eli who nodded in complicity.

"Sophie, I want to show you my new books!" Eli said excited. "Mum, come with us too, please?"

As soon as Eli took Sophie and Jane to her room, upstairs, away from the living room and out of earshot, Andrew found himself alone with Sophia's four brothers and her father.

One of the twins, he couldn't tell which one was, grabbed him by the collar of his shirt and rose him to his feet. He had very strong arms and his grip of his shirt was tight. And then, the other three brothers and Sherlock were all standing around him, as if they were queueing to beat him.

"David -"

"I'm Benedict," the twin grabbing him by his collar shirt said coldly. "My, my, so you're Sophia's boyfriend..."

David smiled darkly behind his brother. "Do you know what happened to Sophia's boyfriends when they came home for the first time?"

Andrew's eyes widened. His pulse was quick and he was panicking. Had the room been completely silent, everyone could have heard his heart pounding inside his chest. _Scared_. That was the proper word. Andrew was scared.

"Uh... no."

"Me neither because you're the first she brings home," Lock said, standing close to Benedict's left side. He placed a hand over his brother's, the one grabbing Andrew by the collar of his shirt, and Benedict let go of him.

Andrew sighed relieved, though he was still panicking. "Sherlock?"

"Lock," Lock corrected him. "For the family."

"Lock -"

"I said Lock for the _family_ ," Lock said, cutting Andrew off. "You're _not_ part of this family."

The young man went nervous.

"Um -"

Benedict took one step forward and Andrew walked one step backwards. And the he was standing against a wall and in front of him were Hamish, Lock, Benedict, David and Sherlock.

When Andrew though no one was going to touch him nor hit him, a hand moved to his jaw.

"If you hurt our sister..." started Benedict.

David smiled. "We'll make your life so hellish."

"You'll wish you had never been born." Hamish said firmly.

"Just one tear," Lock said. "And you're a dead man."

"I will personally tear you limb by limb." Sherlock said, his grey eyes on Andrew's and using his most deep, scary voice. "No one will ever find your bones. Are we clear?"

Andrew nodded, scared. "Yes... Sir."

"I'm sorry, I think Dad didn't hear you." Benedict said mockingly.

"Yes, sir." Andrew said a bit loudly this time.

"Dinner's ready!" Sophie said cheerfully, stepping into the living room where she found Andrew and all his brothers standing around him. Her father smiled at her. "What's going on here?" She asked, a bit confused.

Lock and the twins smiled. "Oh nothing," Lock said.

"Andrew here was telling us about economy and business," Benedict lied.

David nodded. "Dreadful thing. The bank business."

"Good luck we don't work in one," Hamish commented.

For dinner, Andrew sat next to Sophia and Eleanor sat next to him to his left side. In front of him were the twins, Lock and Hamish and sitting at the head of the table was Jane, next to Sophia, and Sherlock at the other end of the table, next to Eleanor.

Contrary to Andrew's belief, dinner was good. He didn't thought dinner was going to be awful because of Jane's food, but because of what had happened before. Sophia had told him about her father, about her brothers, about her mother and her little sister. Andrew John Henry Clinton was not stupid and he knew who Sherlock Holmes was. The consulting detective business was not as private as Sherlock always wanted it to be. He appeared in the papers every now and then and he continued working for the Yard, though it was official now and he contributed with his cleverness and worked with most of the Detective Inspector's in the Yard and not with Greg only any more.

Andrew talked about politics and numbers, a thing he only mentioned every time he was asked. He was not stupid and he knew business talk bored people. Most of the times. Sophia was never bored, but he didn't want to cause the wrong impression on the people he thought will become family someday.

The twins were explaining what was like to be in Afghanistan, the work they did, his mates, how Benedict was told to clean the latrines after he had dismissed one of their Captain's orders and so on when Andrew, who was listening to the twins' stories, felt someone pulling at his arm.

"Don't worry about them," Eleanor whispered to him. "They won't hurt you."

Andrew smiled. "You think?"

"Yep. They just want to scare you off," Eleanor said with a smile.

Andrew was touched by this. He really liked Eleanor. Sophia had told him lovely stories about her little Eli, as he heard most of the family called her. Eleanor was very sweet and very different from all her siblings. Andrew could notice how similar and look alike all of them were to Sherlock Holmes. Lock and the twins looked more like triplets. The three of them had dark curly hair, the same cheekbones and grey, and blueish eyes. However, Hamish looked completely different, more a bit like his mother, Mrs Jane Holmes. And Eleanor looked a lot like her mother. Opposite her siblings, she had golden hair, deep blue eyes and thin lips and a round nose. She was like a mini version of her mother.

However, this conception of Eleanor as sweet was soon going to change.

"If you ever hurt Sophie, I'll kick your crotch."

Andrew's eyes widened surprised.

"I heard it causes a lot of pain for men," Sophie said darkly, something Andrew noticed she had inherited from her father. "Don't hurt my sis, are we clear?"

"Ye-yes..."

"Eli, Andy?" Sophie said when she noticed her little sister whispering to her boyfriend.

"I was telling Andrew about Gladstone!" Eleanor lied.

"That's my little Eli," Sherlock beamed at Eli. "I'm very proud of you."

The following day Sophie told her family Andy really liked them and that he said they were lovely.

* * *

**Hamish - 26**

"I'm nervous," Hamish said, trying to fix his tie for the twentieth time. "I hate ties!"

Sherlock smiled a bit from his place close to the window, where he was sipping some tea before the ceremony started. Down in the garden were all the guests, Hamish and his girlfriend Olivia's friends, as well as her family Sherlock found tolerable and his own. Jane was helping the twins with their ties, Sophia and Eli were sitting together, Lock was leaning on a tree smoking, his mother was sitting at the front row or chairs arranged for the guests to be part of the wedding, alone.

Richard Holmes had died and now his mother was alone. Mycroft, and even he, had insisted she should move in with one of them but she rejected the idea. She said she would never leave the house in which she and Richard lived all their life, and where they had and raised two children and where they had seen all their grandchildren playing.

Sherlock, now that his eldest son was getting married and staring his own family, wondered if he was ever going to go through the same. Or Jane. Whoever left first, the other would be alone. Sherlock knew his mother was stubborn because of her insistence of living alone in that big house. But he understood what she felt. He would never leave Baker Street unless he was dead. There he had loved Jane, he had his babies, raised them and that was the first and the only home he and Jane had. Baker Street held so many memories that Sherlock understood, while seeing his eldest soon getting ready for his wedding, that twenty four years go he had found Jane and their son again.

Was it twenty four years?

That much time?

"Were you nervous?"

"Hmm?"

"When you got married to Mum," Hamish explained. "Were you nervous?"

Sherlock turned to his son. "The first time, yes. My Windsor knot was a shame."

Hamish laughed. He took the little box with the two rings and placed them on his pocket. "I think it's time."

The detective stood before his son and placed a hand on his shoulder. "I can't believe you're getting married. A few years ago I rocked you in my arms until you fell asleep."

Hamish laughed. "I was three, Dad. That was ages ago."

Silence fell upon them until Sherlock patted Hamish's shoulder. "You'll be a good husband and a good father. I know you won't make the same mistakes I did."

"You were a good father. You _still_ are."

"I left you and your mother alone." Sherlock said, his eyes on the hearing aids Hamish was wearing, and will have to wear, for the rest of his life. "I hurt you."

Hamish smiled bitterly at some memories. He still remembered the time he was told his Daddy was dead, and then when Sherlock returned, when he could only see the detective during the weekends because his mother was already rebuilding her life with another man. Hamish even remembered the day he, his brother Lock and their mother returned to Baker Street and when his parents adopted Sophie. Hamish knew all the things his parents had to go through. He knew what his father Sherlock did to his mother when she was expecting him was a lot not good. What Sherlock did to Jane was the most unforgivable thing a man can do to a woman. But twenty five years later they were together, they were happy. They had six children and hopefully grandchildren would come soon.

Despite of all the things his father did, Hamish knew he had no right to judge him. But, on the contrary, Hamish was not resentful.

Because Hamish loved his father.

"You know, when Mum lived with Matthew, I remember I counted the days to see you," Hamish said. "I couldn't wait till Friday afternoon for you to take me and Lock to Baker Street. I remember telling Marty all about my weekend with you the following Monday. I told everyone how awesome my dad was. And when you told me what you did to Mum," Hamish said and Sherlock's eyes were clouded with tears. "I wasn't angry. I just cried because I couldn't understand it. I'm old enough to understand now," Hamish said softly and smiled. "And you have to stop apologising because everything's OK. Everything's OK, Dad."

Hamish hugged his father.

"Now, don't cry or you'll ruin my suit," Hamish joked. "Come on, old man."

"I'm not old! I'm forty-four!"

"Still an old man!"

* * *

**David - 22**

_Dear Mum and Dad,_

_How are you, Mum? Are you still working at that surgery? And how are you, Dad? Are you still putting up with the new D.I's or have you already made them change to other divisions? How's Eli? Does she already have boyfriends Dad has to scare away? And Gladstone? Is Dad still taking him to the park every Sunday morning? _We got some letters from Hamish, Lock and Sophia too. We still can't believe Hamish's gonna have a baby. Are you ready to become grandparents? And Sophie's nomination was not a surprise. She deserves that award. She's a very good actress. Have you met Lock's new boyfriend? 'Felipe' is his name? What do you think of him? And how does and he and Lock talk to each other? As far as we know Lock doesn't speak Spanish. Or does his boyfriend speak English?__

_Remember I told you about our mate Rick? He's healing well and he's going back home soon. The poor bloke lost his left arm and he thinks his girlfriend won't want to marry him now. Benedict says we're lucky not to have girlfriends, wives or children waiting for us. I think it's true. _But still we have you. And we watch our backs as you asked us to._ Many of our mates cry seeing the pictures of their girls, of their children and some of them get into trouble sneaking into the offices to call home. Don't worry, we keep the pictures you sent and Eli's paintings._

_I'm finishing my training here in Afghanistan and I'm going to Syria in two days. I'm assigned to join the RAMC's. I'll flying doctors and patients from the medical tents to the few hospitals left in the city. Benedict is joining Captain Murray's platoon and he's going to Iraq. If we are lucky enough, we'll go home together in six or eight weeks. Dad, please, DO NOT interfere and ask Uncle Mycroft to use his connections to send us back to the training units (again). We're doing well and we're healthy. Syria and Iraq aren't the safest places in the world and I know you and Mum don't want us to go, but the only wound we ever had was a bruised knee after falling from our beds when Captain Willis decided it was good to wake us at four a.m for cleaning duties throwing cold water to wake us up. We'll be fine, I promise._

__Benedict says he'll write soon. Please, don't think he didn't want to write to you. He was cleaning the latrines last night for dismissing the Captain's orders (again). Captain Murray says he'd kick his arse and send him back to England if it wasn't because Ben has the best aim and some guts too. The other day we were attacked by rebels and Ben saved most of our platoon. Our mates consider him an hero and he's boasts about it all day long. But when we go to sleep he cries sometimes. I cry too. It's a lot not good to see people dying and not being able to do anything about it. The other day the rebels planted a bomb on a school bus and nearly fifty children died._ _

___I hope this letter gets to you soon. I heard the post service will stop sending our letters in a few days due to the conditions here. We'll lucky if we have access to some computers to skype to our families. If we don't write it's not because we are either lazy or dead. We'll be very busy soon and I think we won't even have a day off._ _ _

_Send everyone our love. We miss you lots, especially your tea, Mum. And your rants about stupid criminals, Dad. Hugs to you and to Eli. Tell her to wait for us and we'll take her to Sophia's new film première. And please, do not send us anything because we're fine.  
_

_Stay safe. We love you and we miss you._

_Love,_

_David XXX_


	19. Fathers

"He's beautiful."

Olivia smiled proudly. "Hamish considered naming him after you."

"John is better," Sherlock said softly now that he was holding his first grandchild in his arms. "The family doesn't need another Sherlock."

Hamish's baby was beautiful. He had Hamish's hair, eyes, but his nose and his mouth were like his mother Olivia. He had slightly sandy hair and pale complexion. Little John had long arms and legs, as well as long toes and fingers. Hamish said John was going to be as tall as his grandfather Sherlock and like their uncles Lock, Benedict and David.

John Watson Holmes was born in London just by chance. Hamish and his wife were visiting Baker Street. While drinking tea and waiting for Hamish and Jane to come back from the shops, Sherlock found himself nursing his pregnant daughter-in-law and having not a single clue of what to do. The last thing the detective wanted was to help her to have the child. Olivia was breathing heavily, her face was as red as a tomato and she left a large stain in the carpet.

"Now I'm having the carpet changed."

"Can you stop talking about the stupid carpet? Ugh, it's coming now!"

The child was coming now.

His first grandchild was coming now.

Thank God Jane and Hamish were back just in time. An ambulance was called and then Jane and Sherlock were closely following their son and his wife to the hospital. Not so long after they made it to the damn hospital the baby was born. It was a boy. A very healthy, big boy who cried far too much. The first ones holding little John were his parents of course.

And then it was the proud grandparents' turn.

Jane cried. She cried because she said it reminded her of the day she held her first child for the first time. Hamish was her first child. And she could only hold him in her arms three months after he was born.

"He looks a lot like you," Jane told his son, handing his baby back to him. "I'm very proud of you, Hamish."

It is different. It is different when you're not holding your own child a few minutes after he or she was born. It feels different.

Because now Sherlock was holding the son of his own son.

His baby had a baby.

"Thanks for helping me," Olivia told her father-in-law. "Sorry for your carpet."

"You are forgiven only because you are making my son happy." Olivia smiled. "And because despite my first thoughts you managed to give me a beautiful grandchild."

Sherlock remembered the day they met Hamish's wife. He brought her home two days before Christmas. Olivia was shy. Awfully shy. It was not hard to deduce she had read about Sherlock, about his detective business and that Hamish had already warned her about his father's deductive skills. And that she might be deduced in front of everyone.

Not only was Olivia afraid of Sherlock, but of Jane and Hamish's sisters. It is well known sisters and mothers do not always really like their brother or son's girlfriends. But, contrary to popular belief, and to her own expectations, Sophie, Eli and Jane, Hamish's sisters and mother respectively, were lovely. And they really liked her.

Olivia found the twins and Lock amusing. They looked like triplets and they made funny comments and jokes. Little Eli was a lovely girl of two years when Olivia met her.

Jane was more than happy when Olivia suggested helping cooking dinner. She told Jane own she cook meat, how she prepared salad and they instantly liked each other.

The problem was Sherlock.

The detective had met Hamish's previous girlfriends.

And all of them, according to the detective, were stupid, brainless women.

Sherlock wasn't that happy when Hamish decided to move in with Janine. There was something Sherlock couldn't lay a finger on. He just didn't like her, but managed to keep his mouth shut only because of his son. And as soon as Hamish told him he and Janine decided to end their relationship because they just couldn't make it work any more, he was happy.

And then, Carol, Patty, Alice and Florence followed.

For some reason the detective always forgot their names.

However, as soon as he met Olivia, he knew she was the one.

Olivia was simple. She was clever. She was studying law and she was working as a barista in a nice coffee shop. She worn simple, modest clothes and it wasn't that difficult to deduce she came from a lower class family. She had no brothers or sisters and her mother died when she was little. She lived with her father, whom she looked after because he was seriously ill, and worked very hard to support him and pay university. Olivia had a good sense of humour and laughed when the twins made jokes and she even made a few ones too.

The moment Sherlock realised she liked her was the moment she complemented on his experiments.

The detective was cleaning the table and packing his experiments to take them to his room when Olivia stood by his side and pointed at the tests tubes with different body fluids such as blood, urine, saliva.

"This is so interesting," She said, her eyes on the test tubes. "Where you get them?"

"A friend of mine works at Bart's morgue."

"Aunt Molly," Hamish explained.

Olivia focused on the chart Sherlock had written. "So... you're measuring the coagulation of saliva after death?"

"Yes."

"It's impressive."

"You think?"

She smiled. "Of course. Many people just take things for granted, and you do research. That's incredible."

Time passed by and Hamish was serious about Olivia. She met the rest of the Holmes family and everyone liked her. Jane adored her, as well as Sophia and Lock and the twins. The fact that Sherlock remembered her name and that he hadn't deleted her from his hard drive was a good signal.

And one summer day Hamish and Olivia got married.

And a few years later they had their first son.

John Watson Holmes.

"How do you take care of this?"

Hamish smiled and handed his father a bottle of beer. "A gardener comes every now and then. We wanted a big garden for our children."

Sherlock took a sip of the beer and sat on a chair next to his son. He and his wife were visiting Hamish when he told them he was going to have a baby.

"It reminds me of Matthew's garden."

Silence.

"You know, the other day Olivia asked me if... if the baby could have, you know... problems." Hamish said, his eyes on the flowers his wife had planted a few weeks ago. "She cried. She said she loved me as I am. But that she needed to know if our baby will have the same difficulties I have."

"You don't have difficulties."

"I'm still looking at my books before prescribing medicines. It's not like I'm forgetting things. It takes me twice another doctor to diagnose my patients."

Sherlock's eyes were on the recently cut grass. "What did you tell her?"

"All of it. That my difficulties are not inherited and that our baby will be healthy."

Silence.

"She was a bit angry because I never told her a word about it after all these years together," Hamish sighed and looked at the football ball sitting on the grass a few feet from them. "Do you know he always told us stories about you?"

"Hmm?"

"Matthew. He used to tell us things about you. He said he'd heard of you working for the police and solving crimes. He even showed us pictures of you on the internet. He said we ought to remember you."

"Was he good to you?"

Hamish nodded and smiled a bit. "He was... he was a good father. I loved him. Lock adored him too. It's been ages since we last talked about him." Hamish frowned. "Actually, we never talked about him again."

The truth was that Hamish never knew who Matthew Morstan really was. Jane told him and Lock when they were little that he died of a brain tumour and that was it. Then he and Jane were together again, they were a family and Dr. Matthew Morstan, as Hamish and Lock remembered him, was forgotten.

"Jane said he was good to her. He took good care of you."

A lie.

He was lying.

"This thing is scary. Olivia bought a pile of books about parenting."

"You'll be fine."

"Were you scared?"

Sherlock smiled a bit. "I was always scared. All of your mother's pregnancies were different. Every single one of you were different. Though I can't tell about you and Lock."

Hamish smiled.

"The other day Jane found a video of you as a baby."

"Did she?"

Sherlock nodded. "It was your first birthday party. Even Mrs Hudson was there."

"Where did you were?"

"In the U.S tied to a bed because I hurt a nurse."

"Silly Dad."

"He had it coming. He liked to hit disabled patients."

Hamish turned to his father. "Did you know I survived?"

"No," Sherlock admitted almost immediately. "Not until my parents visited me for the first time and told me they were giving you and Jane none of my money because you were not a Holmes."

"When was that?"

"Six months after Mycroft put me into rehab. I thought you dead. I knew Jane was safe but I... I didn't know if you were alive. I sent your mother letters but she burned them before ever reading them."

"What did you write in those letters?"

Sherlock looked at the sky. It wasn't difficult to remember what he had written in those letters. And how he felt. How much he cried when writing them. How much he waited and longed to receive Jane's letters, to see their baby, to see what he looked like.

"I asked her what your name was, what you looked like. I asked her to send me pictures of you. And hers."

"Didn't Uncle Mycroft tell you about me? Mum said he had people on us."

"He eventually told me you were alive and that Jane named you Hamish after her father," Sherlock explained. "I begged him to get me out. No one believed me I wanted to get out there because I needed to see you. They all thought I would relapse. Then I was allowed to have more visitors but Jane refused to see me."

Hamish remained silent.

"It felt like... I have no words to describe what it was for me to know there was a child out there... my son... suffering for the things I did. For my stupid decisions. It still hurts me to know you can't have a normal life because of me," Sherlock said softly. "I'll never be able to make it up to you."

Hamish placed an arm around Sherlock's shoulders and smiled at him. "Silly Dad. You're turning into an old man... talking nonsense."

"It's not nonsense. And I'm not old!"

Hamish laughed. "Now, come on, let's go inside before you catch a cold."

"Don't treat me as if I were an old man!"

"But Dad," Hamish laughed. "You're an old man!"

In their moments alone, when Eli was deep asleep in her room, when it was late at night and when they were in their bed, Jane wondered what her life would have been like if Sam Sawyer hadn't left. She usually wondered if she and Sherlock would haver ever got together.

"He would have been very proud of Hamish."

Sherlock pressed a kiss to Jane's forehead. "Hmm?"

"Sam," Jane whispered. "I guess... I guess he would have proud of Hamish."

Thirty-two years ago. Thirty-two years ago Sherlock held Jane's hand one night when she was a mere seventeen-year-old girl and she told him she was pregnant and that she didn't know what to do.

Sherlock still remembered that day as if it had been yesterday. It was raining and he ran to Jane's house when she told him she needed him. The detective had never seen her crying until that night. When Jane told him she was pregnant and that she was alone, he felt his heart breaking. He loved Jane. He couldn't stand seeing her crying, let alone because of a stupid young man. Sherlock loved her so much that the moment she told him she was pregnant, he felt every possibility of ever becoming part of Jane's life was impossible.

How stupid.

Jane snuggled close to Sherlock and pressed a kiss to his bare chest. They had just made love and now they were just lying there, in each other's arms, not being able to sleep.

Staring into the darkness of their room and only feeling each other's skin, lips.

"Would you still love me when I have wrinkles all around my face and white hair?"

Sherlock kissed her again. "You already have wrinkles and white hair. That's why put on lotions and dye your hair," the detective said softly. "And I still love you."

"Like the first time?"

"Of course," Sherlock said, moving his hand underneath the covers. "I love your lips, your eyes, your hands, your tea. Always."

Jane smiled at him. "It's not fair."

"What is it?"

"You," Jane giggled. "You got better with time. Your white hairs, your wrinkles, your deep voice... you are sexier and I'm an old woman."

"But you're the sexiest and the only old woman I'd ever love."

Jane smiled tenderly. "Every time I kiss you... it feels like the first time." She let her hand touch his naked body. "Ready for a second round?"

"Hold on. I'm not twenty something any more."

* * *

 

"Mum?"

Jane looked up from her chair. "Yes, Eli?"

Eli was sitting on the floor of the living room reading some magazine with a large picture of Sophie in the cover. "Father's day is coming soon."

"Yeah."

"I don't know what to get Daddy. I've got some savings but... he's a difficult person to get a present for."

Of course it was difficult to get Sherlock a present.

Hamish always got him a bottle of wine, Sophie, who was always travelling either filming or going to premiers sent him clothes, such as the expensive shirts he liked. Lock always sent him strange things from all the places he visited. Last year he got the detective a tribal mask from Africa Sherlock hung on the living room wall and put headphones on it. Eli and Jane always went shopping together and got him some lab equipment, sometimes a cake, sometimes a full supply of petri dishes and test tubes. The twins, on the other hand, if they happened to be in England, got him a new gun, things for his detective work and so on. If they were travelling or were sent abroad, they usually got him things from the countries they were in. Once the twins sent Sherlock a video of them showing him their tents, the places where they worked. David showed him his helicopter and Benedict showed his father his polished guns proudly.

"Have you talked to your siblings?"

"Yeah," Eli said. "Hamish's coming, Lock too. The twins said they don't know and Sophie said she wouldn't miss it for the world."

Jane smiled.

Despite most of their sons were all spread around the world they would always come home for Father's Day. And for Mother's Day too. Hamish and his wife always visited, as well as Lock who dropped any work he might be doing and flight back to London. Sophia, no matter whether she was filming, promoting a film, or studying job offers and reading scripts she would always go back home. And the twins not always could make it, but they tried their best. Sometimes, when they were given a week or ten days off, all of the sudden, they knew their Uncle Mycroft had done something, moved one or two of his connections surely.

"What do you think I should get him?"

"I'm sure he'll like whatever you choose."

"I..." Eli blushed. "Nothing."

"No, what is t?"

Eli shook her head.

Jane smiled fondly. "What is it, Eli?"

Eli got to her feet and shower her mother a picture of what she thought his Daddy Sherlock would like.

"Aw, it's very nice, Eli. I'm sure he'll love it."

"You think?" Eli asked excitedly.

Jane nodded. "Let's go shopping then."

**Some weeks later...  
**

The country house had never been so full of people before.

Everyone was there. Hamish, his wife Olivia and their little John. Lock and his boyfriend Felipe, who was learning English and now could talk more and more with everyone in the family without having Lock translating him all the time. Sophia and her soon-to-be-husband Andrew were there too, as the twins and their girlfriends and Eli.

They had a very nice lunch all together, in which Sherlock held his grandson all the time because he wouldn't stop crying unless he was in his Grandpa Sherlock's arms.

And everything was like it used to be.

The twins sat together, as if they were little children again, and kicked their legs under the table every time one said an embarrassing thing about the other. Next to them were their girlfriends whom the twins said were their soon-to-be-wives and mother of their children. Two girls who apparently loved them far too much to stand their jokes and their long deployments and missions in the middle east.

Then, Hamish and Lock were sitting together with their partners. Hamish found amusing the fact Lock learnt Spanish to understand Felipe, his latest boyfriend. Felipe was also learning English because he said, in a very Spanish accent, that he wanted to be able to speak with Lock's family and make the same effort Lock did when he learnt his language. The fact that now Hamish was a father made Lock said he was considering the idea. This made Jane and Sherlock happy.

Sophia and Andrew had been dating for years and now they were very close to get married. The tabloids had already written about Sophia dating different men when she had always kept Andrew's name secret. While Sophia was huge, Andrew preferred not to be a public person and to cheer his girlfriend from home, a thing Sophia had always accepted.

And finally, the last child, Eleanor, Little Eli, as her Daddy Sherlock called her, was sitting next to him. Every now and then resting her head against his arm and telling him she really couldn't wait for him to open her present.

Sherlock was given clothes, paintings, a new magnifier, a new coat that was exactly like the one he always wore and even a perfume.

The last present was Eleanor's.

"Happy Father's Day, Daddy!" Eleanor said as she handed him a tiny shopping bag and kissed his cheek. "I love you."

Sherlock smiled. "I love you too, sweetheart."

"I hope you like it. It's not much and it's not as expensive as the other presents..."

"I'm sure I'll love it," Sherlock reassured his daughter and took a look at the contents inside the bag.

A DVD and a little box.

Sherlock instinctively opened the little box first.

It was a lovely key-chain.

A silver heart shaped key-chair. And it had something engraved on it.

_'You're the best Daddy in the world - Eli xxx'_

"OK everyone sit down!" Eli asked the family and all gathered in the living room.

Sherlock sat in the sofa across the television, in the middle, holding his grandson who was now falling asleep in his arms and to his right were Eli and Sophie and to his left was Jane. All the the others were standing behind the sofa and waiting expectantly to see Eleanor's latest creation.

Eleanor took the DVD and put it on.

It was a sort of video featuring pictures of Sherlock and a violin playing. Sherlock knew Lock had played the violin and recorded that song for the video.

The detective rolled his eyes when in the TV screen they saw old pictures of him as a child playing with Mycroft.

"Those are awful!"

In those pictures Sherlock was wearing a pair of stupid green short trousers and a t-shirt with a smiley face. He was skinny, a child with long legs and arms, a round face and dark curls.

"Hush, Daddy, wait!"

Then, there were pictures of him as a teenager. Pictures of him and Jane hanging around in each other's houses. A picture of him and Jane taken by Suzanne before the prom party.

"Aw, you look so young!" Sophie said.

"I'm still young!"

"You're fifty, Dad," Lock joked.

Hamish laughed. "An old man."

"I'm not old!"

"Hush, Daddy!" Eli said and pointed at the screen. "Look!"

Their first wedding. Pictures of their first wedding. He and Jane were holding hands and they looked so young. Both were smiling.

And then, pictures of Jane and Sherlock together when she was pregnant, expecting Hamish.

Jane and Sherlock looked at each other and a tear rolled down Jane's face.

Then, there were pictures of Sherlock with Hamish, with Lock, with Sophie, with the twins and with little Eli. Pictures of him with his children in their birthdays, in school plays, at Lock's first violin concert, at Hamish's school graduation and a few ones from when he graduated and became a doctor. There were pictures of the detective with Sophia after her first play in which she played Juliet. Pictures of Sherlock and the twins after a football match at school. Pictures of Sherlock with Eli since she was a very little baby to the last one taken in the flat a few days ago during her birthday party when she turned twelve.

Sherlock smiled. He remembered every single one of those pictures. The day Hamish graduated from school and then from uni. The day Lock played the violin brilliantly in front of the whole school. Sophia's first play. The twins' football matches. All those moments with Eli.

And then, there were no more pictures but videos.

 _"Want baby now!"_ A three-year-old Hamish said.

Hamish was three years old and he was sitting over Sherlock's lap. They were at the country house, in the garden, sitting on the grass and Jane was holding the camera.

 _"But the baby needs to stay in Jane's tummy,"_ Sherlock explained. _"It can't come now."_

_"Baby now!"_

_"You will be a good big brother, won't you?"_

Hamish smiled. _"Yes!"_

_"That's my son."  
_

_"Lov' you Daddy,"_ Hamish said, pressing a sloppy kiss to Sherlock's cheek.

Sherlock smiled. _"I love you too, son."_

The detective felt Hamish's strong hand on his shoulder and his wife saying how cute Hamish was when he was little.

And then, another video.

 _"Like this,"_ Sherlock said, placing his own violin under his chin. _"Back straight. Chin up."_

_"But Dad, I want to play now!"_

_"You must learn how to hold a violin before you can learn how to play it."_

_Lock sulked._

_"If you want to learn -"_

_"I know, I know,"_ Lock waved his hand. _"I can already play! I've seen you playing dozen of times!"_

 _"Oh really?"_ Sherlock asked. _"Show me."_

Lock closed his eyes, mimicking Sherlock's face, and started playing.

_"And? What do you think?"_

_"You still have lots to learn and improve. Your body position is a shame."_ Sherlock said firmly, but then his expression softened. _"It was brilliant, Lock. I'm proud of you."_

Lock laughed. His boyfriend Felipe smiled and commented how sulky Lock still was.

Sherlock laughed and then another video started.

 _"Blimey! I... God, I can't believe it,"_ Sophie gasped and looked at the award in her hands. _"God, thank you!"_

Several actors, producers, member of the Academy were clapping. All of them giving Sophia Watson Holmes a standing ovation that seemed to never end.

In a very few seconds, Sophia thanked the people she worked with. Her British accent so outstanding, one of the things she had always been praised for in the American media. As well as the way she spoke, always so polite and correct.

And then, tears rolled down his face.

 _"I... I want to thank my parents. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for them. Thank you, Mum, for always being there when I needed you and for helping me choose this dress,"_ Sophia said and smiled. _"And you, Dad. Thanks. I remember... I remember you told me I had to pursue my dreams."_ Sophia looked down to the award in her hands and more tears clouded her eyes. _"This is not my dream, Dad. My dream is to be your Princess forever, remember? I love you."_

"God, you had to include that one?" Sophia asked her little sister.

"But you look very pretty on it!"

"I was a mess of tears! Did you see my face?"

Before Sherlock could tell his daughter she looked beautiful that day, another video started.

 _"We should paint his lips,"_ an eight-year-old Benedict whispered. _"with Mum's lipsticks!"_

_"Benny, this is a bad idea. What if Dad wakes up? He'll ground us forever!"_

The detective remembered that day.

David was the one behind the camera. Apparently they had been dared to put make up on their father's face without him noticing when he was napping because apparently he had a case and he hadn't slept in more than two days in a row.

Benedict took Jane's lipstick and painted Sherlock's lips clumsily. Sherlock's full lips were deep pink now.

 _"Ha-ha-ha! Look! He looks very pretty, doesn't he, David?"_ Benedict asked jokingly. _  
_

_"Benny, you'll wake him up!"_

_"He won't wake up! He passed out. He hadn't slept in more than two days. He won't wake up. Now, pass me the brush."_

The twins giggled and then the video finished. It started again when Sherlock woke up and went to the kitchen, where the whole family was having dinner. All of them laughed at the sight of Sherlock wearing lipstick, pink blush on his cheekbones and dark mascara.

When the video finished everyone laughed.

"You didn't ground us," Benedict reminded his father.

Sherlock smiled.

And then, a fifth video started.

The last one apparently.

There was a little girl of no more than six years old standing at the head of the table. She was wearing a pink dress and her golden hair was braided. She had a fringe covering her forehead and her little fingers were curled on the edge of a sheet of paper with her own handwriting.

 _"My Daddy Sherlock is the best Daddy in the world. My Daddy can make very yummy pancakes and he wakes me every day with a kiss. Daddy can also sing very good and I think he should be a singer. My Daddy is also very good looking and all the mummies are always over him,"_ Eli said with a smile. _"My Daddy can also run very fast and he catches criminals and bad people. Once, he jumped to the Thames and Mummy told him it was a very stupid thing to do. My Daddy knows a lot about everything! He knows that if you put eye balls in the microwave they can explode. And that you can't keep toes on the fridge because Mummy will be angry and because it's a lot not good. My Daddy Sherlock can braid my hair. Daddy sulks too,"_ As soon as Eli said that everyone at the table laughed. _"Daddy likes to watch films with me and crap telly too. My Daddy can play the violin. And my Daddy not only loves me, but he loves my Mummy too. He says she's the woman of her life and I think so too cos Daddy loves Mummy so much that sometimes he cries when he shows me pictures of their wedding. Daddy also loves all my brothers and my sister and he cries when he sees pictures of Lock in Africa, or when Sophie was in the telly and said that she wouldn't be the person she is now if it wasn't cos of Daddy. And Mummy too. And Daddy cries when Benny and David are back from the war safe. And the other day Daddy cried when I told him I wanted to be a detective like him. Daddy, you're the best Daddy in the world. And I love you so much that sometimes I feel my heart is too small to love you like I do,"_ Eli made a pause, pulled her fringe off her eyes and smiled to her father who was sitting next to her, with an arm around her little shoulders and silently following her reading. _"I want to be a detective like you when I grew up and work with you and catch bad people with you. Will you let me? I promise I will be very clever and run very fast like you. I love you, Eleanor."_

The video was over.

"Did you like it, Daddy?"

Sherlock said nothing for one or two seconds, when he placed an arm around his daughter and pressed a kiss to her head. "It was the loveliest thing I've ever seen. Thank you, Eli."

And then, a few tears rolled down his eyes and Sherlock found himself embraced by all his children.

His six children and his baby grandson.

More than thirty years ago he would have never imagined this. This family. Jane. Hamish, Lock, Sophia, Benedict, David and Eleanor.

And little John.

All of them said 'Happy Father's Day'. Even his children's partners who said they loved him.

"Happy Father's Day." Hamish said, patting Sherlock's back. "Thanks for being my Dad."

Sherlock couldn't help but cry.

* * *


	20. Marriage

Sherlock lowered the papers he was reading. "Why are you eating cereal and milk? You're not ten years old anymore."

Jane patted Sherlock's arm softly. "Leave them alone. My babies have just returned from the front."

"Yeah," Benedict said with cereal in his mouth. "God, we missed your breakfasts, Mum. The food back there is shit."

"You still remember our favourite cereal," David added with a bright smile. "Mum, are you gonna bake chocolate muffins for tea?"

Jane successfully hid a smile. "I don't know. If you behave."

"Please, please, _please_!" Both twins said in unison. "We'll clean the basement!"

Benedict nodded. "We'll fix the roof too."

"Can you stop treating them as if they were toddlers? They are twenty-four," Sherlock said and looked at his sons. "You two are considered the best pilot and soldier respectively and you still cry for muffins?"

Both twins laughed their heads off. "Don't be a stick in the mud, Dad. It could be worst."

"Yeah," Benedict said. "We could ask Mum for a song before a nap."

"And we could ask you to take us to the zoo."

Since they had left to join the army Sherlock just let them go. When both hit puberty and started seeing girls, going to God only knows where, going to the gym and even skipping classes just because it was fun Sherlock was no longer with them. He was used to hold their little hands and take them to crime scenes to make Anderson's life hellish. Sherlock liked to take his twins to different places in London for an ice cream, to see one of those action films they liked. They plus Hamish and Lock were his four little boys he liked to spoil and raise telling them stories of criminals rather than fairytales.

When Hamish and Lock were far too old to be taken to the park, the twins would gladly take his hands and lead the way.

But then Sherlock never knew when the twins let go of his hands and became men.

"He's so silly!"

"Who?"

"Andy," Sophie said, stepping into the living room still in her pyjamas and glancing at her mobile. "He's being silly."

"Do you want us to take care of him, sis?" Benedict said between mouthfuls of milk and cereal. "We can give him a good scare."

David nodded. "Yeah. A few punches won't hurt him. Don't worry, we'll avoid his face."

"And his balls. You'll want to have his babies." Benedict added to his brother's words.

"Whose balls?" Sherlock asked.

"Andy's," Sophie explained. "He's being silly again."

"Again?" Jane asked, half laughed. "What is it this time?"

Sophia told his parents and his twin brothers who had just returned home after another deployment that her husband Andy didn't want her to take the part she has just been offered. It was a well known director, a film she was told would surely grant her a nomination and she would be co-starring with her favourite actor.

"Wait –" Benedict cut his sister off. "Is that the guy who looks like Dad?"

"Yeah. Oh God, he's brilliant. I can't believe I'll work with him."

"I don't approve of you working with him," Sherlock said. "He's several years older than you –"

Sophia rolled her eyes. "Daddy, the scenes are very subtle –"

"You said so last time, remember?" David asked.

Benedict nodded. "Yeah, damn Sophie! We went to see that film and you were naked on it. Why didn't you tell us?"

"I told you!"

"You should have told us the nature of those scenes, Sophie," Jane said. "Your father didn't speak for a week."

It was true that Sherlock didn't speak for a week. They left the cinema and Sherlock went mute for days. On telly there was a discussion whether those sex scenes and the nudity were necessary even when the plot was good and is some way it justified the use of such scenes. The film was about a couple (Sophia and her co-star) who decided to try swinging but things went wrong when exchanging husbands and wives turned into something so dangerous like murder and mystery.

"But Mum! It was not much –"

"Not much? You shagged a guy and then walked around the room naked for five whole minutes!" Benedict said.

David laughed. "Marianne said you must have got plastic surgery. That no one can have those breasts and arse without surgery."

"Tell your little girlfriend my breasts are natural." Sophie said proudly. " _All_ my body is natural."

"Can we stop talking about your breasts?" Sherlock interrupted. "It is enough I had to see you… engaged in sex and walking around naked."

"You always say I used to ran naked around the flat."

"But you were three," Sherlock reminded his daughter. "Not thirty."

Sophie chewed her lip. "Dad! I'm _twenty-seven_! Besides, it was acting. Not real, remember?"

"I don't care. The murder scene was rubbish. Too predictable."

Sophia smiled. "That's all you're gonna say about the film, Daddy?"

"Excluding the sex and the nude scenes, you were wonderful on it."

Sophie decided to stay that weekend since Andrew was abroad working. She was more than welcome and helped Jane cooking, talked and even played video games with her twin brothers and told Eli all about films, the actors she liked and had the chance to meet and what was working in the industry.

"You should go to bed," Sherlock said. "Isn't staying up until so late bad for your skin?"

Sherlock smiled and sat across his daughter. It had been long months, maybe more than a year since Sophie stayed home more than a few hours. She was always busy with either her job or her boyfriend or her friends. There was a moment in which Sherlock and Jane had to get used to know things about their daughter through telly or magazines.

Sophia was his first daughter, his little princess even though she was reaching her thirties and Sherlock still, sometimes, saw her as a little three year old girl who asked for a cuddle, a glass of hot milk and a story after a nightmare.

"We have to talk."

"Well?"

"Andrew proposed."

Ah. "You said yes."

Sophia nodded. "Will you walk with me down the aisle and give me away?"

"I thought that day would never come."

"Every time there's a rumour about me being pregnant… we laugh. Andy says it's funny. I'm always saying I'm still young and that I want to work but… I want to have my own family. Settle down. Give Andy a baby boy. Make you and Mum grandparents."

Sherlock didn't know if what he was feeling was pain or happiness. His little princess wanted to have his own family. His baby wanted to have her own babies.

No.

"I can't believe I didn't deduce the topic of this conversation before."

Sophia laughed. She told Sherlock Andy wanted a secret thing. Go, get married and then surprise the whole family with the news. But Sophia said she wanted her parents to know because she had always dreamt of a wedding with her family, her friends, a nice dress and a honeymoon.

"We're already preparing some things. We'll get married in the country – far from the press."

Sherlock smiled. "You have always done what you wanted. I can't see why you need my approval."

"Daddy… I..." Sophia placed a hand on her flat stomach. "I think I may be pregnant."

Thousand of images came to Sherlock's mind. Memories of a very little Sophie walking her first steps, babbling her first words, saying 'Daddy' for the first time. He still remembered the first moment she said she wanted to be an actress. Her first play. All those afternoons he spent reading scripts with her before an audition. The afternoons after her drama lessons when he used to take her to some nice place and they would eat ice cream together.

Now yes. His baby was having her own baby.

"Does he know?"

"No," Sophie smiled. "I wanted you to be the first."

"I hate him."

"Why?"

"Because he impregnated you! You're still my princess. You can't have babies."

"Silly Dad." Sophie pressed a kiss to Sherlock's forehead as he did when she was a little girl and she had nightmares and stroked his hand softly. "He's the man of my life, Dad."

"Just one tear, Sophia Watson Holmes," Sherlock said firmly. "One tear and I kill him."

"Silly Dad."

* * *

"Oh my God, Mum! Who's this?"

When Sophie said she was getting married she stopped working and spent most weekends at Baker Street, bringing lots of magazines with pictures of dresses and dragging Jane and her little sister Eleanor to the shops and even to taste the food for the wedding. Andrew and Sherlock were dragged with them too, and soon he and his future son-in-law were getting their suits together.

This afternoon Sophia decided to go through old pictures she said she wanted to get copies of for her new home where she was to live with her future husband after the wedding.

Jane leaned forward and looked at the picture her daughter was looking at. It was a picture of her and Matthew together. Jane remembered that day; they were at Bart's working, it was one of Matthew's patient's birthdays and she had offered herself to bake a cake. She was holding a piece of cake, Matthew had an arm around her waist and he was pressing a kiss to her cheek. She was smiling.

They looked happy.

"A friend."

"A friend? He's _kissing_ you, Mum." Sophie winked.

Jane merely smiled and continued going through the magazines her daughter had bought. She was sure she had taken all those pictures with her and that they were away from everyone's reach. All those pictures she had taken during those three years she had lived with Matthew, or Sebastian Moran which was his original name, all those pictures were safely placed inside a box in her wardrobe. The only ones who knew about the existence of those pictures were Sherlock and herself.

Many years ago when things between them were still bitter Sherlock said she should get rid of those pictures and of all the things that reminded her of Matthew Morstan/Sebastian Moran. But Sherlock never understood. He never understood that even though Matthew, or Sebastian, was dead, Jane could never forget him.

Nor the baby they had and died inside her.

"Was he your boyfriend, Mum? God, you had such a good taste! He's so _handsome_! Look, he even looks a bit like you, Dad!" Sophie said, holding the picture in the air so Sherlock, who was sitting on his chair, would look at it but soon Sophie understood her father didn't want to look at it.

There was no point lying to her daughter. Not anymore. But it had never been lying.

Just keeping some things from her.

From his place on his own chair, Sherlock remained silent.

Because Sophie didn't need to know what had really happened. She had not always been Sherlock's daughter. She was Matthew's. He rescued her. That story of them seeing her in an foster home was a lie, as Sherlock saying they should name her Sophia because Sophia means 'wisdom'.

But then she didn't need to know that.

"He was my boyfriend when your father was dead," Jane explained. "His name was Matthew."

"Was?" Sophia asked, a soft frown between his eyebrows. "Is he dead?"

Jane nodded faintly. "He died shortly after your father came back."

"You… you lived together?"

"We were together for almost three years. Then, well, he was diagnosed with a brain tumor and died."

"I'm sorry."

"It's OK," Jane smiled reassuringly.

Sophia looked at the picture and at the man close to her mother. "Did you love him, Mum?"

"I suppose I did," Jane said and met Sherlock's eyes. "But not as much as I love your father."

"I just hope my marriage lasts forever. Like yours."

Jane smiled once again. "I'm sure it will. Marriages are not always easy, mind you. It's not what you want or what he wants. It's... you have to get to an agreement. Make it work. Don't ask for a divorce after the first row." Jane joked. "Don't throw his clothes from a balcony or hire detectives to follow him."

"I'll gladly do it," Sherlock said.

"Silly Dad."

"You'll be fine. Andrew loves you. I know he does."

Sherlock snorted. "He'd better or I'll kill him. And your brothers will tear his limbs apart. They are all already queuing."

A month later Sherlock looked at his daughter wearing a white dress and that necklace that had been his mother's, that had been in the Holmes family and that even Jane wore the day they got married. He offered his arm and both walked to the garden where the wedding was going to take place. All the family was there, as well as Andrew's and their friends. The princes of England and some famous people were there too, just their closest friends.

"Have you seen Will's son and Eli?" Sophie murmured while they were walking down the aisle. "I bet she'll be a Queen."

"Over my cold corpse."

Sophia smiled. "Silly Dad."

Before giving his daughter away, Sherlock shot Andrew a severe look. "If you ever hurt my daughter consider yourself a dead man."

Andrew promised he was going to take good care of Sophia and that he would never hurt her. Before the wedding Hamish, Lock, the twins Benedict and David, Sophia's cousin Tim and even Eli threatened him.

But when the priest, once the ceremony had already started, asked if anyone present was against Sophia and Andrew getting married, Jane held Sherlock's hand and gave it a strong squeeze. "Shut up."

"I wasn't going to say it."

"But you're thinking about it," Jane whispered. "Let her go, Sherlock."

And then they were husband and wife and they kissed.

Sophia was no longer his princess.

When walking down the aisle in the garden of a big house in the country, Andrew smiled for the guests and cameras until the twins, Lock, Hamish and even Eli made a gesture.

"Just one tear, dear brother-in-law," Benedict said between false smiles. "We're all queuing up to kick your arse you know."

* * *

"You should have one, you know. These wonderful things like to cry, cry and cry all day long," Hamish said with a smile as he watched his little son John, of two years old now, playing with with other kids in a special part of the garden prepared for the children to play during the party. The wedding ceremony finished, they had lunch and now almost everyone was dancing.

Lock laughed. "I'd like one… but... it's... we don't have a place of our own. We just keep travelling, living in hotels or rented places. I like travelling, do research and Felipe is studying now." A thirty year old Lock looked at the garden with nostalgic eyes. "We don't even own a bloody bed. When we come to London we sleep in our old room, you know. We put our old beds together and Dad's keep saying the flat is not a bloody hotel room. Imagine buying a cot or a bed for a child."

"And what does your other half say?"

"Felipe's crazy about it but he won't tell me. He's bloody broody."

Hamish chuckled and patted his brother's back. "You should talk about it."

"We _do_. But he keeps denying it. He... he thinks I'll leave him if he ever suggests the idea," Lock said,his gaze now on his nephew. "I swear to God I want to punch him when he does that."

"Does what?"

" _That_ thing!" Lock said, as if it were obvious. "If he wants to have a child he should tell me! I'd fucking buy a house, a car, a telly, a bed. I'd even get a bloody Labrador if he wants me to." The dark haired brother, whose curls and features reminded everyone who his father was, buried his face on his hands and sighed. "I'd travelled all around the globe and I've seen enough. I want to settle down. Marry him. I'd give my fucking sperm if he wants me to."

Hamish, for a moment, didn't know what to say. His gaze was on his son who fell to the floor but was trying to get up by himself. He and Lock had always been very close. Hamish still remembered the day Lock told him he was gay. He could still recall the moment he told his brother there was nothing wrong with him and what he will always have his support. They had gone through a lot of things together; they had to see their mother suffering when their father returned from the death. Hamish was a mere child and he had to explain his brother, who was a little toddler, that their daddy, who had always been dead to Lock, was indeed alive.

Lock was sometimes the only one who understood Hamish. When Hamish was fourteen and sometimes he wouldn't understand his chemistry homework, Lock was there to help him, explain him things as many times as Hamish needed.

The only brother who knew what had really happened when Hamish was born was Lock. It was all revealed that night when after a series of mischiefs Benedict deduced Hamish was not Sherlock's biological son. That night Hamish cried in bed and Lock, who he shared the room with, asked him what was going on. Before Hamish could explain, Lock said Benedict was mistaken, that he was far too young and stupid to think properly and that he shouldn't cry when Hamish told him everything Benedict had said as true.

That night Hamish felt Lock's little hands taking his and saying no matter what they would always be brothers.

_"Because when we were little you told me amazing stories. And you were always there to protect me from the kids who teased me because of my name."_

Hamish smiled at that memory. Lock was in nursery and other boys laughed at him because of his strange name.

_"I don't wanna 'Sherlock' to be my name! The other kids laugh at me!"_

_"It's our Daddy's name."_

_"I don't care!"_

_"It's OK, Lock. Tomorrow I'll teach those boys a lesson."_

"Remember when you met him?" Hamish asked. "You said you learnt Spanish only for him."

"Yeah. What about it?" Lock asked, slightly cross after all the things he had said.

"Well, you learnt a _language_ for him, Lock."

Lock nodded. "So? I could speak a bit before anyway."

"You're a very difficult person to be with, Lock. You're just like Dad. You want everything to be rational and logical and sometimes… sometimes it doesn't work that way. I'm no one to give you a speech of how a relationship should be because my marriage is not perfect," Hamish said, his eyes now on his wife who was dancing with David. "Olivia and I have our rows every now and then."

Lock rolled his eyes. " _Please_ ," he said sarcastically. "You must fight over who does the shopping."

"She insists I should get a cochlear transplant and I keep saying I'm OK with my hearing aids. She's a lawyer, not a bloody doctor. She won't understand I'm too old for that." The doctor said with a faint smile. "And you know what? Last week I had to sleep on the sofa because we fought over the gas bill."

Lock chuckled. "Your marriage sounds a bit shitty."

"Yeah well… I think it's normal to have these fights every now and then," Hamish said jokingly. "But at the end… at the end we always realise we love each other and that we were too stupid."

"Hmm. Your wife tends to maximize stupid things."

"Yeah. But I love her the way she is. And Felipe must love you the way you are otherwise he wouldn't have gone with you to all those places you've been to. He tries very hard to fit in our crazy English family where we're all used to London raining almost every bloody day, drink tea all day long and watch Doctor Who and he prefers warm places or that strange thing he drinks," Hamish said, looking into his brother's grey eyes. "And he's studying English and struggles with it but you can see how hard he tries."

Lock nodded in agreement and smiled when he remembered last week his boyfriend was struggling with tenses. "Yeah. I guess any other one would have… I don't know… ran away as soon as he met my family."

"Remember when you introduced him to the family?" Hamish asked with a smile on his face. "Dad gave him the speech and when he finished Felipe said 'I no English'."

Lock laughed his head off. When he introduced Felipe to his family some years ago his boyfriend could only articulate a few words in English. It had not been a trouble when he say hello and that his name was Felipe. The troubles started when Sherlock gave him a speech during almost five minutes non-stop using his London accent and talking in great speed. Any English speaker or an advanced foreign learner would have understood what the detective said but Felipe stared at the man who was his boyfriend's father and listened to that long string of difficult words he didn't know what they meant only to say 'I no English'.

Now, years later, Felipe could talk with almost everyone within the family. His English had improved amazingly that now Lock barely spoke in Spanish.

Hamish's comment made Lock see all the things Felipe had left behind and gave up for him; his life, his job, his family and his friends. Even his own language. As he always spoke in English, Felipe also spoke in English. Felipe had to get used to a new culture where things were so different and complicated that sometimes he struggled and didn't know how to react in certain situations. Lock chuckled when he remembered Felipe often said British people were cold because of the weather.

"He left everything for me."

Hamish took his son in his arms and gave him a soft kiss on his forehead. "Give him a rest, Lock. He's a good guy. One can see how much he loves you. I'm rather fond of him actually. I know he won't hurt my little brother."

"Hey! I'm not a damsel in distress!"

"Go and dance with him," Hamish patted his back softly, encouraging his brother. "The poor bloke had to dance with almost everyone," He pointed at Felipe who was dancing with Jane. "Go and rescue him or the next one will be Dad."

Lock looked at the few couples dancing a few feet from them. Felipe was dancing with Jane and they seemed to be chatting. Lock smiled when he saw the way his mother laughed - Felipe must be telling her something silly about him. Maybe he was telling his mother about the time he almost got himself killed after misunderstanding a tribal group they visited in the deep of the African jungle.

Lock loved Felipe and often said he loved him like he had never loved anyone before.

"I'm sorry, may I have this dance?"

Felipe smiled at him lovingly. "Ah, yes, of course," he said, thinking Lock was talking about his mother.

But Jane patted his shoulder and smiled at them. "Sure."

"I thought –"

"If I wanted to dance with my mother I'd have done so when the dancing started. To avoid her insisting later, you know."

Felipe blushed. "You want to be the –" he chewed his lip. "Forget it."

Lock smiled just slightly and put his right hand on his boyfriend's shoulder and took his hand. "I'll be the girl." They danced slowly for sort seconds before Lock leaned close to Felipe. "Are you enjoying yourself?"

"Um... by that you mean if I like being here in this party?"

"Yes."

"Then yes." Felipe said with an honest smile. "Are you?"

Lock nodded. "Tenemos que hablar."

"Hmm? About what?"

"Why you don't speak in Spanish anymore?"

Felipe shrugged. "My teacher says I have to speak in English twenty-four-seven to be fluent –"

"No me importa."

"Por qué?"

"Because when I met you the first thing that I loved about you was your Spanish. Your voice. _You_." Lock said softly, his eyes on his boyfriend's.

"You never told me."

"There are many things you left behind for me. I never realised." Lock whispered. "I'm sorry."

Felipe smiled. There was a deep pink shadow on his cheeks. Nervous. Lock knew he was nervous. "I'm happy being here with you."

"I don't want you to forget who you are, where you come from," Lock said, his grip on his boyfriend's hand tightened. "I don't want you to lose your voice. I want you to speak up. Tell me what you want."

"I'm happy, Lock. I don't..." He chewed his lip. "I don't need nothing."

"Anything." Lock corrected him.

Felipe smiled nervously. "I don't need _anything_ else if I'm here with you."

"Speak up, Felipe. I won't go anywhere. I promise."

Felipe leaned close and pressed a chaste kiss to Lock's lips. "I love you."

"Would you marry me?" Lock asked, leaning forward for another kiss. "Felipe, marry me."

Lock felt his boyfriend tensing. "Lock, I'm legal. We don't need to get married so I can stay in this country –"

"For fuck's sake, Felipe. I'm seriously asking you to marry me!" Felipe burst into a laugh and Lock blushed furiously. "I'm not fucking joking! Do you see my point? I fucking ask you to marry me and you laugh. God, I swear I would strangle you with that tie -"

"Hey! What happened to the British politeness?" Felipe asked jokingly. "I was told husbands don't speak to each other that way."

"You're impossible."

"And you're a cheeky bastard I can't wait to get married to." He paused and then frowned. "Wait, was that sentence properly –"

Lock kissed him softly. He smiled. "Yes. You said it perfectly, mi amor."

"Te amo."

"I love you too."

Their lips met in a soft kiss. They danced together and kissed for long seconds before they felt a pair of hands on their shoulders.

"Get a room!"

"Benedict for fuck's sake!"

Benedict smiled. "Hey, I'll tell Mum!"

"You're such a baby!"

"Apologies, Ben. We were... you know... how do you say it? Having a moment?" Felipe said softly.

Benedict laughed. "Having a moment? What you're having my dears is a boner!"

Lock pinched the bridge of his nose and closed his eyes.

Felipe, who was far more calm and understanding, laughed a bit and patted Benedict's back. "Yeah, well, we may need a room actually."

"Here," Benedict produced a key from his pocket and gave it to his brother. "Just don't get too noisy, all right my friends?"

Lock let out a long sigh and finally smiled. "I swear I'll cut your penis off as soon as this wedding finishes."

"I'd like to see you trying –"

"Calls us when they cut the cake!"

Lock took Felipe's hand and both got into the house.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Felipe and Lock's dialogue.
> 
> Lock nodded. "Tenemos que hablar." (We have to talk)
> 
> "Hmm? About what?"
> 
> "Why you don't speak in Spanish anymore?"
> 
> Felipe shrugged. "My teacher says I have to speak in English twenty-four-seven to be fluent –"
> 
> "No me importa." (I don't care.)
> 
> "Por qué?" (Why?)
> 
> ...
> 
> Lock kissed him softly. He smiled. "Yes. You said it perfectly, mi amor." (My love)
> 
> "Te amo." (I love you.)
> 
> "I love you too."


	21. Death

 

Sherlock remembered the day his mother died. It was a Sunday. It was raining. They had gone to the manor to visit her as they always did religiously, or while work and family allowed them to. All of them were present. And it was just after lunch when his mother said she needed to lie down for a bit that she asked him to help her.

"Eli is lovely," Elizabeth said softly. "If your father was alive he would say she's an angel."

"She inherited most of Jane's features."

Something in his mother's eyes told him this was the last time they were talking.

And that she was dying.

" _Six_ children, Sherlock."

"I know."

"Imagine how many grandchildren you and Jane will have," His mother smiled tenderly at him. "Christmas shopping will be the death of you."

The detective smiled just slightly. "It already is."

"My son," Elizabeth cupped Sherlock's cheek with her warm hand and smiled at him, tenderly, lovingly. "My dear baby. My last baby. I still remember the day you were born. You took your time."

Elizabeth spent more than fifteen hours waiting for Sherlock to come to the world and every contraction felt like a stab. It wasn't until late in the night when her son was finally born.

Sherlock merely leaned to her touch.

"I did my best. I tried very hard to give you all the love you needed," Elizabeth whispered, a tear rolling down her face. "I know it wasn't enough. But I'm thankful to Jane."

"You were a good mother."

She smiled. "I'm sorry for not caring. For not helping you when you most needed me."

"That was ages ago, mother."

"It is hard to be a parent. It is an every day fight between what you want and what we think it is the best for you."

"I know. I've got six children," Sherlock said softly.

She smiled. "I'm happy I got the chance to see you and Mycroft growing up, having each their families, their children."

Sherlock remained silent.

"I'm tired, son."

"I know, mother. Get some sleep before tea."

Both knew she was not going to wake up.

Sherlock helped his mother to get into bed and held her hand for the last time. "I love you son. Don't ever forget how much I love you."

"I love you, mother."

Sherlock had seen her mother suffering when his father died. As her mother was several years younger than his father, she knew she still had long years before she died and be with her husband again. He knew she didn't want to die because she wanted to see her last grandchild, Eleanor, growing up, becoming a little girl and then a woman. His mother wanted to see his grandchildren having their children, see the family growing and growing, but she had to die. She had to. It was life.

People die every day.

But it wasn't fair that one of his sons had to die.

No one ever tells you what is like to lose a son. No one. It is always natural to lose a father, a mother, parents. Not your own children. Your own children are meant to bury you.

Not the other way around.

David was taking wounded people, children and doctors to a hospital. He was flying an helicopter and he was considered the best pilot. He had earned lots of medals and honours. He was the youngest to ever train recruits. He knew the maps like the palms of his own hands.

David Watson Holmes was famous among his mates for having a sister who was an awarded and very much talented actress, for having a father who was a brilliant detective, for having a twin brother in Iraq who was a hero, almost a legend and, mostly important, to give his own life for the lives of civilians. David had flown in the middle of the night countless times and had always completed all the missions he was assigned to.

It was a risky mission but he didn't care. His mates told Sherlock and Jane that he looked confident and that he promised the doctors and wounded civilians he would take them to the nearest hospital.

He knew it was dangerous, but he didn't care. He dropped the people off and tried to escape, but it was too late.

And two days later his body was sent back to London.

It is also said twins are so close one can feel when the other is in pain.

Benedict, for no apparent reason, knew something was wrong. And when later that day he was notified about his twin brother being killed in action in Syria, he collapsed.

The day David was buried Benedict decided not to ever go back to the army.

Everyone cried. It hurt.

Benedict was angry. He almost punched Hamish when the older brother tried to hug him.

_He's my brother. We were conceived together. We grew up in mother's womb together. We were born together. You don't understand._

Not only Benedict, but Hamish, Lock, Sophie, their respective partners and Eleanor were sad, broken, destroyed.

And Jane said she wanted to die.

David was merely twenty six years old. He didn't have a girlfriend back at home, but many of his friends from all his life attended the funeral. All of them cried with Benedict and some shared the nice moments they spent with him.

No one can understand the pain that comes when a son dies. David did not die. David was _killed._ And what hurt his parents was knowing he was indeed killed just because he was helping people... but after all, that was David. He knew the mission was dangerous but he insisted.

Both Jane and Sherlock pressed a last kiss to the closed coffin and watched it being buried.

* * *

_"This is Benedict," Sherlock said, his eyes on the baby he was holding with his left arm. "And this is David."_

David was little. Very little and he didn't cry when he was born. The first one coming to the world was Benedict and then David. According to the doctor David was on the right side of Jane's womb.

And they rarely felt the baby in that side kicking.

As a baby, David worried his parents constantly because of his behaviour. He barely cried and when he did, it was soft. Benedict cried far too much and had quite a pair of lungs, but David was always calm. Jane and Sherlock thought he might suffer from autism, but David was very clever and as the years passed, he became a very lively child. He and David loved football, chocolate milkshake, cookies, action films and Doctor Who.

Sherlock remembered David always running to Jane's arms every time he cried because Benedict had been mean to him or just because he was scared after a storm. Benedict would always run to his. It was clear that David was much more closer to Jane than to him.

_"Daddy?"_

_"Yes, Benedict?"_

_The three year old patted his leg to get his attention. "David."_

_"What is it, David?" The detective said, his eyes still on the experiment which was to help him to caught a criminal._

_"Love you, daddy."_

_That was enough to forget an experiment, a criminal, anything._

_Sherlock held his son in his arms and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I love you too, David."_

* * *

_"What's that?"_

_Sherlock showed his son a blood sample. "Experiment."_

_"Wanna go to the park?" David asked, holding a soccer ball and his keys. "Today's not so crowded."_

_"I'm busy."_

_Fifteen tear old David left the ball on the floor and turned the tv on. He watched old reruns of Doctor Who alone in the living room since Jane, Sophie and Eli went shopping, Benedict was at a friends' and Hamish and Lock had already moved out._

_"Weren't you going to the park?"_

_"Remember when we were little?" David said, a bitter smile on his face. "You played with us."_

_"You said you wanted to be a footballer."_

_"I'm not that good at it."_

_"Have no one to play with?" The detective asked, sitting across his teenage son._

_David shrugged. "I wish I could be like Ben. He's friends with everyone. He's popular and all the girls like him."_

_"Don't wish to be like your brother."_

_"Why? You know that approximately nine out of ten girls fancy him?" David said. "All of them find me ugly. I could wear his clothes and they'd still like him best."_

_Sherlock wanted to laugh. "At least you've got manners and you don't wank in the bathroom every damn morning."_

_David laughed. "He thinks you don't know."_

_"I know everything about all of you. You can't hide things from me."_

_"Really?"_

_"Try me."_

_David smiled. "Sophia."_

_"She auditioned for a play in the National Theatre but didn't get a part. She didn't tell us because she felt embarrassed."_

_"Mish."_

_"Hamish cheated on his girlfriend with a classmate."_

_"Lock."_

_"Your brother Sherlock called yesterday and said he was doing research but he's in Ibiza having fun with another young man."_

_David blushed. "By having fun -"_

_"He's having sex and surely walking around naked in one of those beaches -"_

_"Too much information, dad!"_

_"Come on, let's go to the park," Sherlock said, standing up and looking for his coat._

_David remained on his place. "Can we just stay here? I'll pop in downstairs and buy something for tea."_

_"Gladstone needs to walk," the dog was already waiting at the door. "And you need to do exercise. Soldiers ought to be fit."_

_"You sure you wanna play? You could fall and break a leg."_

_"I'm forty-three!"_

_"Old man!"_

* * *

_"It's not the end of the world, mummy," David said, hugging his mother tightly. "It's just some training. We're not even going to use guns, you know."_

_"Yes we are!"_

_David glared at his twin brother. "Benedict!"_

_"Take care of yourselves," Jane said with tears in her eyes. "Promise me you'll be back safe."_

_"We promise." Both Benedict and David said in unison._

_Sherlock hugged both of his sons. "Behave. Remember that for every swearing you'll be made to clean the floors with your toothbrush."_

_"I'll behave!"_

_The detective turned to David. "You don't do anything stupid."_

_"Such as?"_

_"Getting yourself killed."_

_David smiled. Tears were already clouding his eyes when he made the classic military gesture, already saying goodbye before going to Afghanistan for the first time. "I'll learn to fly helicopters and I promise you I'll do my best to make you feel proud of me, dad."_

_"I'm already very proud of you."_

Both returned safely. Benedict earned a medal and David learnt to fly three different helicopters. He was awarded with a medal which he gave to his father Sherlock.

Something like eight years later, they were saying goodbye for the last time.

_Benedict left earlier, saying he wanted to spend some time with his girlfriend before leaving. David, who was single, stayed at home during his last day in London. He ate breakfast with his parents and his little sister Eleanor, then helped Jane with the shopping, washed the dishes after lunch, played cards with his sister and finally got himself ready to go._

_"Why you don't have a girlfriend, David?" Eli asked. "Oh, I bet you have one."_

_"I'm fine this way," David said, packing a picture of the family. "Besides... I don't want to have a lady waiting for me here when I'm abroad most of the time."_

_"And why Benny has one?"_

_"Because your brother is a womanizer," Sherlock replied._

_"Got everything?" Jane asked._

_David nodded. "Yes."_

_"Good bye, David!" Eleanor threw her arms around her brother's neck and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "I'll send you letters! Oh, and we'll skype, right?"_

_"Of course. You be a good girl to mum and dad."_

_"Good bye my baby," Jane said, with tears in her eyes. "You'll be back for Christmas, right?"_

_"Wouldn't miss it for the world."_

_Jane smiled. "Good. Because I'm cooking your favourite. Come back soon. I'll pray for you and your brother."_

_"Thanks, mum."_

_Then, the detective smiled to his son and hugged him. "Don't do stupid things. Remember -"_

_"Yes, dad. I'll run."_

_"Come back safe, David."_

_David smiled. "Remember the envelope inside my top drawer."_

_Ever since joining the Army, both twins had written their wills. Jane cried when they told her about it, but then, several years later, it was just a joke. David always wrote a new one before leaving. Benedict stopped writing them, saying nothing will ever happen to him._

_In the last one, David asked, in case he died in action, to be sent to London and to be buried. He left his CD's to his siblings and asked for his clothes and other belongings to be given to the homeless._

_"Run, David," Sherlock whispered to him. "Don't play the hero and run."_

_"I promise you I'll be back safe, dad. You promise me we'll play football."_

_"I promise."_

That was the last time they saw him alive.

* * *

"I should've stopped him," Jane sobbed against Sherlock's chest the night they had buried their son. "I should have never let him join the army."

Sherlock cried silently. Heavy tears rolled down his face at the memory of that day when they said goodbye to their son for the last time. "There's nothing we could have done. It was what he wanted, Jane."

"My baby... he was so little when he was born... so little in my arms."

"I know."

"It's not fair, Sherlock."

"I know." The detective pressed a soft kiss to his wife's forehead. "I know, love."

Jane cried for long minutes until she was so tired that she fell asleep in her husband's arms. Being very careful, Sherlock slid out of their bed and walked upstairs to the twins room. Or to what used to be their room. Everything was clean, neat. Benedict was sleeping on his bed, with his back to the door. Sherlock walked towards David's desk and looked at the framed pictures hanging on the walls. There were lots of pictures of him with Benedict as children, pictures of their birthday parties, pictures with friends, with their girlfriends and one with their favourite footballer.

There was one picture taken the day they were born. Sherlock cried when he found it. He was sitting next to Jane at the hospital. Jane looked exhausted, tired. Both were looking at the camera, both were smiling. Sherlock was holding both twins, each on each of his arms. Jane was resting her head over his shoulder.

David was so little.

_"Benedict," Sherlock said, holding the first baby in his arms._

_Jane cried and looked at the second baby in her arms. "His name's David."_

_"They are beautiful."_

_"They look like you," Jane whispered while breastfeeding David. "I'm sure they are going to be very handsome men like their father."_

_Sherlock smiled._

He could still recall their smell, how they cried, how they looked like when they were born and every single moment of their childhoods. Benedict started talking and walking first while David could barely articulate a word and he only crawled all around the flat.

_"I want to be a detective like you, daddy," David said one day when he was five years old._

_Sherlock raised an eyebrow. "Do you?"_

_"Yes. I'll be David Watson-Holmes, Consulting Detective," the boy said with a bright smile. "Like you."_

But he was gone. David, his son, was dead.

"Can't sleep, old man?"

"I need a cigarette but your mother will kill me."

Benedict smiled bitterly. "You know, David fancied a girl back in Syria. Her name was Jade." Benedict sat on his bed and looked at David's, which was opposite his. "She was a nurse or something or the sort. She was helping at the hospital David always went to to take patients and doctors. He said she always covered her hair and her face. That he could only see her eyes. But he loved her. He once..." Benedict smiled.

"What?"

"He said he'd become a muslin and marry her once the war was over. They never talked, David said he was too shy," Benedict said. "He only knew her name and what colour her eyes were."

Sherlock chuckled. "So that's why never dated women."

"He never got to tell Jade he loved her."

Sherlock remained silent.

"I can't look at myself in a mirror and don't think of David. We were identical twins. The only thing different about us was our way to see things," Benedict said softly. "I don't think I can live without him, dad. David and I... we felt things, you know. He could tell when I was sad when a girl left me. And I could tell when he was desperate to come back home and be with you and mum. I felt when he died. I knew something was wrong, but I didn't know what it was."

The detective sat next to his son on his bed and cried with him. "It's OK, Ben. Go to sleep now."

"How could you tell us apart, dad?" Benedict asked once he stopped crying. "I looked at our pictures and we look the same. I can't even recognise myself on them."

Sherlock smiled. "I always could. Since you two were two little babies and your mother dressed you in matching clothes."

"God, mum made us wear those awful jumpers! But how could you tell us apart?"

"A father always knows."


	22. Broken Family

"Hello," Eleanor made her way in, ignoring her brother's wife. "Kettle just boiled?"

Olivia closed the door, already used to Hamish's sister's behaviour and glanced at the little bag she was carrying. "Do your parents know you're here?"

"Hamish comes at five, right?"

"I'll take that as a no."

"Hello little John! Missed auntie Eli?"

John, Hamish's son, was five years old. He really loved his auntie and ran to her arms as soon as he saw her. Eleanor, a mere sixteen year old teenager, played with her nephew the whole afternoon until his brother was back from work.

"So they don't know you're here?" Hamish asked.

Eleanor rolled her blue eyes. "They must know by now."

"Where did you take the money for the plane?"

The teenage girl showed her brother a special card with their uncle Mycroft's name written on it. "Did you know that by just showing this card you can travel around the world for free? I should try it on the MI6 offices."

"Where did you get it?"

"I pick-pocketed uncle Mycroft a few weeks ago," Eli said proudly. "Knew this would be useful."

Hamish pressed a hand to his forehead. "What happened?"

"They're fighting again."

"What was it this time?" He asked worriedly. "Must be something quite important for you to run away from home."

"I didn't run away."

"So what you call this?"

Eleanor shrugged. "Holidays."

"You're supposed to be at school!"

"Whatever," She waved her hand dismissively. "I already know all my lessons."

"What happened, Eli?"

The teenager, who so far had been sitting on the armchair across her brother, looked away to the framed pictures on the walls. There was one of her parents. Both were quite young. They were holding a very little Hamish in their arms. Both looked happy.

"Last night I was working on a very good experiment in my room when I heard them shouting. Apparently mum kicked dad out of the room and dad said something about... gosh, they are unbelievable."

Hamish frowned confused. "What?"

"Dad said something about mum not wanting to have sex with him," Eleanor blushed. "And then mum started ranting about his smoking and well, you know what they are always arguing about."

"Is that it?"

Eleanor shook her head and looked at her brother with sad eyes. "Mum said they should divorce."

* * *

Life is not always pink. Very few things in our lives remain the same for years and years. Very little things not only remain the same but also makes us happy.

Jane and Sherlock always had their arguments. They always had a row every now and then over silly things such as Sherlock forgetting to pay the gas bill, forgetting to buy milk, over Jane and her excessive need to have everything clean and in order.

But there were also moments when their fights were over serious things.

Such as their son's death.

When David died they started to drift apart. Jane stopped working, went to the cemetery almost every day and cried. She lost weight and now was unhealthily thin. Sherlock, on the contrary, started taking more and more cases and now he was barely at home. He started smoking again and became really close to a new DI of the Scotland Yard Victoria Trevor.

Victoria Trevor was the reason why one day Jane showed up at the Yard. The new DI, according to Greg's comments, was brilliant. Extremely brilliant and could solve the most difficult cases. Greg was promoted to Chef Superintendent and Victoria Trevor replaced him. She was young, in her early thirties, she was single and very pretty.

And when Jane showed up at the Yard, she found Sherlock working with her. Nothing was wrong, actually. What Jane found wrong was the short distance between them and how a manicured hand was on her husband's arm.

And Jane didn't like it at all.

Victoria Trevor was everything that Jane wasn't. She was young, she was athletic, she was clever, she was, like Sherlock, an adrenaline lover and had that determinacy to solve cases and to catch the bad guys.

A year after David was killed, they fought all the time and the detective slept now on the sofa in the living room.

And at Victoria Trevor's flat.

"So, what are you doing this summer?" Hamish asked while Jane passed the salad. "Going to the country house?"

Silence.

"I don't think so," Jane said, faking a smile. "I think I'll stay here in London. I don't know your father."

"What about you, dad?"

"I find quite amusing your attempt to engage all of us in a conversation."

Olivia smiled nervously. "Well, we're going to Spain -"

"No one in this table really cares about your holidays," Sherlock snapped.

Before Hamish could say anything, Jane turned to her husband angrily. "If you're going to talk to your daughter-in-law like that, you'd better leave the table."

"Of course I'm leaving," Sherlock said standing up. "I've got work to do."

"Yes, sure. Don't forget the cigarettes hidden behind the frames on the wall. Oh, and do give DI Trevor my love. You think I'm stupid?" Jane slammed a hand to the table. "I don't need to be Sherlock _bloody_ Holmes to see what's going on!"

Hamish stood up between his mother and his father. "Calm down -"

"Yes, I'm sleeping with her!" Sherlock shouted. "Happy now?"

The detective slammed the door shut and left.

Eleanor ran to her room upstairs. Olivia cleaned the table and Hamish helped Jane to get into bed. He gave her a pill to help her to sleep and silently, wiped the tears rolling down her face.

* * *

Sherlock didn't return to Baker Street for a whole week.

Many things can happen in a week. For instance, Lock, his husband Felipe and their little daughter Catalina decided to go on holidays to South America. Sophia and her husband bought a house in Los Angeles so they'd have a place of their own to stay when she had work there. Benedict asked his girlfriend to marry him, Eleanor decided not to ever love anyone and Jane visited her doctor only to be told she might be ill.

* * *

"You know, dad, I remember you telling me about your cases when I was little," Eleanor said, taking a sip of her coke and looking at the people around them, not really at her father who had a cigarette lit between his lips. "And I've always wanted to be a detective like you. But you know what? I'd rather die before being a piece of shit like you."

Eleanor has never talked to him like that. Actually, Eleanor was his little daughter. She was sixteen, she was a teenager, but he loved her so much. She was very, but very clever and Sherlock was sure she was going to be a detective like him. Opposite all her siblings, Eleanor had inherited Jane's features: she had blonde hair, pale complexion, a round nose, big blue eyes, thin lips and she was short. All the others were like him, tall, with sharp cheekbones, strange eyes, dark curly hair. Even Sophia who was adopted looked like him.

It hurt him to hear her talking to him like that.

"Eli -"

"I haven't finished. I always dreamt of finding a man like you. Because to me you and mum were the perfect married couple. I wanted to be like mum too... cook, wash and do all that stuff. I think she had always done too much for you. I thought you good... a very good person. But you're just like the others... You know, I'd better be alone than finding someone like you."

That hurt.

"I'm sorry," was the only thing the detective could say.

The teenager finished braiding her long golden hair, stood up, took her school bag and raised an eyebrow to her father. "You should apologise to mum, not to me."

Sherlock said nothing.

"I know what happened between you two when Hamish was born," Eleanor said bitterly. "I told mum she was a stupid for forgiving you."

* * *

When Jane visited her doctor once again, she didn't get the best of news.

However, she didn't cry. She merely asked her doctor for options and promised she would think about them.

She was sure of almost nothing.

She was sure no one would ever know what was happening to her.

* * *

"My little baby, we all miss you so much," Jane said, placing flowers on her son's grave. "Eli has most of your CD's. She's become a huge fan of those bands you loved."

Jane didn't cry. She stopped crying long time ago. Now visiting David's grave wasn't as painful as it used to be. Now Jane merely spent a few minutes there, sometimes she talked to the grave, to her son's spirit. Sometimes she just left some flowers and left.

This time she needed to talk.

"Ben's getting married soon. Your sister's moving to Los Angeles and Lock's baby girl already walks. And she talks a lot," Jane smiled. "Lock says he'll make her speak Spanish like Felipe, English like him and French too."

Jane smiled bitterly. "Your father and I are divorcing... We spent thirty-six years together and he's grown tired of me. What can I do, uh? I'm getting old, I'm tired and I'm... I'm tired, son. I'm fifty-three. I had to go through a lot of things and I know life is not always easy. Sometimes we win, sometimes we lose. I guess... I guess it's my time to lose. I've fought far too much and now it's time to give up," Jane looked at her wedding ring, still polished and asked herself why she was still wearing it. "I always believed I'd live long enough to see all your siblings becoming parents, but I think it won't happen. Maybe we'll see each other soon."

She bent down and pressed a kiss to the stone with her son's name engraved on it. "Good bye, my baby. Look after us, will you?"

And when she turned, Sherlock was standing there.

Jane said no word and left. She had more graves to visit: her father, her mother, her sister, Mrs Hudson's and finally Sebastian Moran and their baby's.

* * *

A week after he left, Sherlock returned to Baker Street only to find his things already packed and waiting for him downstairs. As it was early in the morning, he knew Eleanor was at school and Jane would be alone.

He found her sleeping on the sofa.

By just looking around he could tell she had been sleeping on the sofa since he left. Jane looked fragile, she was very thin and suddenly she had more wrinkles around her face. She was pale.

There was a cup with already cold tea on the coffee table as well as a medical book and a little bottle of pills to sleep. Jane only used them when she couldn't sleep or when she was ill. There were seven missing. She had been taking one per day since he left.

In the fridge Sherlock found rests of take away. Jane had never been so fond of take away, she preferred to cook, but now there were individual portions - only Eleanor ate. That explained why Jane looked to thin.

The whole house was so silent. Sherlock couldn't remember when was the last time there were all six children in the house. Looking around he recalled the days when Hamish and Lock were two kids who liked to play football, when Sophie was a little three-year-old girl running around the flat naked, when the twins started walking together, when Benedict said 'fuck' for the first time and David 'I love you'. Or when Eli told him she wanted to be a detective like him.

The house started to be full of children again when Hamish had his baby, John, and when Sophie had her baby Henry and finally Lock, who with the support of his husband decided to have a baby, Catalina, who was a mix of the two of them.

Everything was so silent.

"Everything's downstairs," Jane said while sitting on the sofa and rubbing her eyes. "Will take a shower, you can look around and check you've got everything."

And with that, she wrapped herself with her gown and went to the bathroom. The detective heard the tap, the water running when he removed his coat, his gloves and his scarf.

"What are you doing?" Jane said angrily. "Get out! Take your things and leave me alone!"

The detective stepped into the shower, not caring he was getting his clothes soaked. He placed his long arms around Jane's naked form and kissed her passionately. "I'm sorry."

"Leave, Sherlock."

"You're the only woman I love," he said, looking into her crying eyes. "I know I've made a mistake... but I need you more than anything in this world because without you my life has no sense."

Jane cried. She sobbed against his chest.

Sherlock only embraced even tighter and pressed kisses to her face. She was so light in his arms, so fragile.

It worried him.

"Why, Sherlock? Is it because I'm old? You... you don't want me any more?"

"I love you and I want you more than anything, Jane. I was stupid. I'm sorry, love."

They made love for the first time in months. Sherlock was tender, soft, loving. Jane allowed Sherlock to touch her, to feel her, to make her feel loved again.

"Sherlock, I need you to be honest with me," Jane whispered to him. Both were naked under the covers of their bed. Jane was in her husband's arms and he was pressing soft kisses to her neck. "I need to know if you want to stay. If you want me and our family."

"Of course I want you and our family."

"You promise?"

He kissed her. "Yes."

"David's death is killing me, Sherlock," Jane said with tears in her eyes. "I can't do this any more."

"I miss him too. I think in all those moments when he asked me to play football with him and I said no. I always took him for granted..." The detective kissed her softly. "I'm sorry, Jane."

Without hesitating, Jane looked into Sherlock's eyes and remembered that night when many, many years ago she was a mere teenager when she told him she was pregnant and that she didn't know what to do. "I'm dying, Sherlock."


	23. Goodbye

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year and Happy Sherlock's Day! here will be an epilogue soon. Apologies in advance for my mistakes. Thanks for reading!

"What are you doing?"

Jane was sitting on the grass, her blue eyes on the sky. He had just woken up when he threw an arm to the other side of the bed and found it empty. He panicked, he had to admit that, but Sherlock soon realised his wife was nowhere but in the garden of their country house, sitting on the damp grass, looking at the sky. Somehow... longing.

She smiled and gestured him to sit next to her. "Isn't it beautiful?"

"Hmm?" Sherlock's eyes were on his wife. Her nightdress allowed him to see her bare legs, her arms and a bit of her chest. Her hair, which was now long just above her shoulders had some white hairs mixed.

He still remembered her long golden hair which she liked to braid when they were teenagers.

"The sky. It's been ages since I last looked at the sky." Jane pointed at the sunrise before them. It was a mixture between orange, blue and pink. It was perfect, almost like a painting. "Hamish was two when he had a stroke," she said, her eyes on the orange, yellowish sky. "I remember the sky was just like this when we left hospital." Sherlock remained silent. "We went to the park and watched the sunrise."

They decided to spend the summer holidays at the country house, far from London. They left immediately after Jane's birthday when the whole family decided to throw Jane a party. Baker Street was full of people again. Full of noise, children running around, children crying, bottles, nappies and lullabies. All their children and their grandchildren were present at Jane' birthday party.

They all drank tea, ate cake and chatted about their lives and watched the little children playing with what used to be their toys. Their three grandchildren gave Jane countless drawings and she played with them the same games she had once played with her children. John, Hamish's son was now six years old and he could read and write. He had not inherited Hamish's difficulties but he had a weak heart. But overall, John was a very lovely boy who reminded Jane and Sherlock their son Hamish when he was as little as he was.

Sophia had a baby boy she and her husband decided to name Henry. He had inherited most of Andrew's, Sophia's husband, features.

And after getting married, Lock and his husband Felipe tried surrogacy and had a lovely baby girl. Catalina, or Cathy as most of the Holmes family called her, was a lovely child. She had inherited most of Lock features as he had been the one giving the sperm, but she had slightly tanned skin and dark eyes like her other father Felipe. She was now almost three years old and she could speak English, Spanish and Lock was insisting she learned French too.

Sherlock was particularly fond of Catalina. And Catalina really loved her grandpa Sherlock, who she always called 'papa Sherlock'.

And finally, Benedict announced his wife was pregnant too. They were expecting a boy. And they were naming him _David._

David, like his twin brother.

Now, two weeks since they had arrived, both Jane and Sherlock knew the moment was coming soon.

Sherlock leaned close to her and pressed a kiss to Jane's neck. "I love you."

Jane smiled and got to her feet. She offered Sherlock her hand and both walked side by side around their wide garden of their country house. Sherlock wrapped an arm around Jane's slender waist and she leaned close to him. Both were only wearing their pyjamas and little they cared. They walked around remembering their previous visits, the summers with their children, the time Lock went missing and turned out he was hidden up in a tree.

There was a growing tree Sherlock knew Matthew Morstan, or Sebastian Moran, had planted when he was Jane's boyfriend. The tree was tall now and it had lovely pink flowers. There were many things Sherlock wished he hadn't done and one of them was faking his own death. It was vital because if he hadn't done it, Jane and their children would have been killed. But Sherlock understood things happened for a reason. When he was young the detective thought and considered things happened because of processes, rational or irrational operations.

But if he hadn't faked his own death Jane would have never met Sebastian Moran, bore his child and later suffer because of him.

Jane stopped by the tree, took a flower and inhaled its scent. "We planted this tree together when our baby died," Jane said softly, her eyes on the tree, not on her husband. "As a symbol, you know. He said that planting a tree would produce more oxygen... that this way more people would have air to breathe."

"Was he good to you?"

Jane turned to Sherlock. "Yes. He was lovely."

"Did you love him?"

She didn't answer for a second or two. "Yes."

Sherlock said nothing.

They had never talked about him. Sherlock had million of questions. He wanted to know where they went together, if he ever cooked for her, if he ever made her cry, if he ever took her to those lovely places Jane liked. Sherlock always wondered what that man had been like with his sons. Hamish and Lock loved him as if he had been their father. There was no point denying they had loved him. But there were million of questions he still needed to ask.

"I know all the things he did. He killed my family, Mrs Hudson. He hurt you. But taking all those things, he was a good person, Sherlock. He lost his family and he was bitter. I know deep inside his heart he was a good man."

"If... If I hadn't returned... would you have stayed with him?"

Jane frowned. "I don't know. Maybe. Maybe I would have never discover his true identity and we'd still together."

"What was he like with the boys?"

"He loved them. I remember... I remember him singing lullabies to Lock when he couldn't sleep. And every time Lock called him 'daddy' he told him not to do it again because he wasn't his daddy." Jane ran a hand over the trunk. "Feel free to cut it down."

Of course he wanted to cut it down. It had always been on his things-to-do list. But Jane had planted it. And it meant a lot to her.

Maybe a lot more than Sherlock could possibly imagine.

They continued walking around for long minutes when Jane held Sherlock's hand and both laced their fingers. Jane's hand was warm, soft, small in comparison to his.

"I considered this place," Jane said. "But I don't want the children to come in their summer holidays and think their mother is buried here."

"Why is that you wanted to be buried here?"

"Because here is where I spent the happiest moments of my life. With you. With the children. I love this place... it's always so calm, so peaceful."

Sherlock squeezed her hand softly. "Here's where we conceived the twins. And Eleanor."

Jane laughed. "You think?"

"I don't think. I _know_ it."

"Really?"

"We conceived the twins that night you prepared roasted chicken but you burned it so we went to the pub nearby," Sherlock said, his eyes on the plants Jane had planted the previous summer. "When we returned you said you were bored so we played truth or dare."

Jane smiled. "I said dare."

"And I dared you to take your clothes off for me."

"Naughty boy." Jane winked at him.

"We conceived Eleanor that day we had a row," Sherlock said, kneeling next to Jane and helping her to pick some flowers. "You were going to sleep on the sofa when I told you to come to bed because I wanted to make love to you. We took precautions but the result is in London studying now."

Jane laughed softly. "She will be a brilliant detective."

"If she works hard, surely."

"You are too hard on her, Sherlock. She's doing amazingly. Give her a chance, will you?"

"We need to take you to a doctor."

Jane waved her hand and kept on looking at her flowers. "I'm fine."

They had lunch outside. They remembered old moments, some of their most stupidest arguments. They remembered their childhoods, the day they met, the prom party, their lessons together and the time Sherlock visited her place and when she visited his.

"Everything you had was blue," Sherlock told her. "Even your nail varnish."

Jane smiled. "It's still my favourite colour."

Sherlock held her hand and looked into her blue eyes. "The first thing that caught my attention were your hands braiding your hair."

"I remember your eyes. I remember thinking _dear god, this guy has the most strange eyes I've ever seen_."

"Do you remember the night when you told me you were pregnant?"

"How could I forget it?" Jane smiled. "I was seventeen, just a child."

"I always thought what could have been of us if you had an abortion or if you had given Hamish up for adoption," Sherlock said softly. "You think we could have got together?"

Jane considered the idea. "Yes."

"Today's forty years since we're together."

"I know."

"There has been no day without loving you, Jane." Sherlock confessed.

She smiled lovingly at him and pressed a chaste kiss to his lips. "I loved you every single day of those forty years. Look where we are now after so much time together, Sherlock. With six children, three grandchildren, one coming soon."

"Two."

"Sophia?"

Sherlock nodded. "She doesn't know it yet. And Hamish is considering the idea of having another child."

Jane smiled. "Let's go."

"Where?"

She shrugged. "I don't know."

Sherlock rode his bike and Jane sat on the handlebars. He rode all around their house, around their garden and finally all around the village. It wasn't cold, nor too hot, but it was slightly windy. Jane laughed and closed her eyes when she felt the soft breeze on her face, puling her hair back. Sherlock rode the bike with Jane sitting on the handlebars and it reminded him of their days as friends.

_"You know what, Sherlock? We should move to London once we finish school," Jane told him one afternoon after he rode his bike with her all around their neighbourhood. "Rent a flat together. What do you think?"_

_Sherlock shrugged._

_"Oh, come on. It could be funny."_

_"I play the violin in the middle of the night and sometimes I don't talk to days on end."_

_Jane smiled. "I'm your friend. I'll be able to stand all of it."_

_"You won't."_

_"I will," Jane hooked her arm through his. "You're my friend and I love you."_

"What are you thinking about, love?"

Sherlock smiled. "Nothing."

Jane helped Sherlock with his beehives. They had enough jars of honey to give to all their children and keep some too.

"You know, you should sell them."

"Why would I do that?"

She shrugged. "It's very tasty, Sherlock. I'm sure people will like it." Jane said, holding a jar. "It could be a very good thing to do once you retire."

"Hmm." _  
_

He had to admit he had already thought about it. It could be nice actually, to have something to do once he retired. Sherlock was sure Eleanor was going to be a brilliant consulting detective who was of course going to be better than him. And in his plans, Sherlock wanted to take Jane to the country and spend the rest of their lives there, together.

But life had different plans for them.

Once the Victoria Trevor affair ended Sherlock wanted to return to Baker Street to Jane, their daughter Eleanor and try, somehow, to get back the life he had before his son David was killed. He and Jane had drifted apart slowly but now the distance was enormous.

And Jane said they could no longer live together.

Two years passed since the day he said he was sorry. And since Jane told him she was dying.

She refused to tell him what was it, what was killing her, what part of her body was affected. And even though he could tell a lot of things by just looking or simply by a stain of ketchup on someone's tie, Sherlock could no longer deduce Jane and he never knew what was happening until she told him there was no cure and that she wanted to die in the country.

That was the moment when he realised an affair which lasted only few weeks costed him more than two years of marriage and seeing Jane dying alone.

But it was like being boyfriends. It wasn't that bad, actually. For those two years they lived separately they were boyfriends. They were the boyfriends they couldn't be when they were young because they got married being friends and fell in love with each other later. Jane usually joked and said they never did things like normal people, but then, _'it'd have been terribly boring'_.

They went on dates to the cinema, to have dinner, to walk around the city and they spend some nights at each other's.

Sherlock had a nice little flat ten streets from Baker Street. It was little, but enough for himself.

They held hands, kissed and made love. They were like two people in love.

They felt as if they were discovering themselves again.

"What do you want to eat?"

"I don't want to eat. Let's go. Make love to me."

It wasn't until she was underneath him, her eyes were closed and her lips kissing his that Sherlock realised it was coming soon.

"Sherlock...," Jane sighed. "It feels like the first time."

_"I'm your first girl."_

_There was a furious blush on Sherlock's cheeks. "The first and the last one."_

_Jane flushed. "Do you love me?"_

_"Yes, I love you."_

_"Do you want me?"_

_Sherlock took a deep breath, feeling Jane's soft fingers touching his hard member. "You can't imagine."_

He had always wanted her. Always. And if he had always wanted her he asked himself what had got into him to sleep in another woman's bed, kiss another woman's lips and enjoy another woman's body.

Why he had to be so stupid?

"I love you."

Jane smiled lazily at him. "I love you too, Sherlock."

Both collapsed in each other's arms and for long minutes neither of them said a word. Sherlock had learnt that silence is always better. That was the moment when both felt connected, just one. When both felt their hearts beating together.

"How are you feeling?"

"I need tea."

"I'll get it."

"Your tea is awful," Jane said and put on her dressing gown and handed Sherlock his. "Come on, let's go to the kitchen."

Had Sherlock been told about what was to come, he would have never imagined it.

"Who's this handsome young man here?" Jane said, opening an old shoe box and giving her husband a picture. "You recognise him?"

Sherlock chuckled. It was him. It was the picture Suzanne, Jane's mother, took before they left to the prom party. He was wearing a nice dark suit, tailored. His hair was combed, he had put product on it and he had to admit he looked very good. Next to him was Jane, wearing a lovely blue dress and that matching corsage he had got for her.

"That stupid prom party."

Jane smiled. "And this? You know what's this?"

"Hamish. It's your first ultrasound."

"I found this box in your old room when you died. I've been keeping it since then. Look here," Jane handed her husband a bunch of ultrasounds, all of them had things written on them. "All our babies."

There were several ultrasounds from when Jane was pregnant, expecting Hamish, then Lock, the twins and finally Eleanor. In all of them he could see his children when they were the size of a pea and later big enough to come to the world. Sherlock felt little tears in his eyes when he remembered, because he could, all those moments when he took Jane's hand and listened to their babies' heartbeats for the first time.

One of the ultrasounds had written the doctor's diagnose. The baby was too small and suspected heart problems. It was Hamish's. It was the ultrasound Sherlock missed because he was too high to get up and go to the doctor with his wife. It was the ultrasound in which Jane listened to Hamish's heartbeats for the first time.

"What were they like?"

"Weak," Jane remembered. "I couldn't understand much at that moment but the doctor said the heartbeats were too weak and that he was too small."

A tear rolled down his face when he felt Jane burying her face into his chest. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

"Don't be silly, Sherlock."

"I'm sorry for all the things I did to you."

She cupped his face with her warm hands and kissed his tears. "Don't cry, old man. I've got something to show you," and then, she showed him a bunch of letters. "You know what these are?"

It was a bunch of yellow envelopes and all had Jane's name written on them. And it was his handwriting.

"My letters. You..." Sherlock's eyes were as wide as saucers. "You kept them?"

She nodded. "Yes. I read all of them," Jane admitted with a sad smile. "I know about you playing chess with that guy you befriended, the one who had mental problems... I know about you being tied to a bed because you hit a male nurse who liked hitting disabled patients. I know about the awful food, Mycroft's visits, those American football matches you hated on telly and about your treatment."

"I... I thought you had burnt them."

She once told him she never read his letters. Jane told him she burned them before ever reading them.

But it had been a lie.

She had read them.

"Here," she said, giving him a yellow envelope with his name written on it, with her handwriting. "I wrote this one but I never dared to send it."

Sherlock opened the envelope and found a letter and a picture.

It was a picture of a very little Hamish playing in the park. His son was merely a year old. He was sitting on the grass and he had that teddy bear he had got for him when Jane was still pregnant. Hamish had curly sandy hair and blue eyes. Jane's eyes. He was smiling to the camera. He looked so happy. But there was something in his eyes. He looked lost. The developmental delay Hamish suffered as a child was evident in the picture. He looked smaller to be a year old baby. And his clothes told a lot about him and about Jane's economical situation at that moment.

"Look behind."

Sherlock looked behind the picture. It had printed Hamish's little hand and there was something written on it. By just looking Sherlock could tell it was Jane's handwriting.

_Daddy Sherlock,_

_Get better soon. I miss you._

_Love,_

_Hamish xxx  
_

"I wanted to forgive you and visit you so you could meet Hamish but..." Jane trailed off when tears rolled down her face. "I wasn't sure if you loved me, if you still wanted Hamish to be your son. I didn't know what to do... In your letter you said you wanted to meet Hamish, that you still loved me but," she looked into his eyes and tears fell from Sherlock's eyes. "I was scared. That night haunted me for years, Sherlock. I forgave you and I'll do it again. I know you were ill and that it wasn't your fault. But I still have nightmares. I can still feel your hands trying to hurt me and I can still see your face when I was down on the stairs trying to feel my baby alive inside me and you looking at me..."

"I'm sorry," Sherlock whispered, softly taking her into his arms. "Dear God, please, I'm sorry Jane."

She remained silent.

"I wish I could have given you a normal life. I wish I could have been your boyfriend, your first man, Hamish's father... I wish I had never done drugs so I could have never hurt you, my love." Sherlock pressed soft kisses to her head. "I wish Moriarty had never existed. I wish I had seen Lock growing up, helping him taking his first steps -"

"It's OK, Sherlock."

"No. I wish I had wanted Eleanor as much as I should have. She was our last baby, the last one you could give me and I neglected you."

Jane remained silent but cried in his arms.

"I wish our son was still alive," Sherlock whispered and then smiled bitterly. "I'm sure he would have been an excellent parent."

She smiled a bit.

"And I wish I had never cheated on you. I was too stupid. And because of it I wasn't there with you when they told you you had cancer."

"Things happen for a reason, Sherlock. If we had had a normal life," Jane smiled at him. "We would have killed each other ages ago. Just think that if each of our children had come to the world with a textbook, parenting would have been awfully boring."

Sherlock chuckled at that.

"You would've sucked as a boyfriend," Jane laughed. "You were the best friend I had."

"You were my only friend, Jane."

Jane took Sherlock's hand and guided him to the living room where she found an old radio and a very old CD.

"Dance with me."

"I can't dance."

She smiled. "You danced with me only two times: at the prom party and at our fifteenth anniversary. Please, dance with me one last time."

The music told him immediately what song it was. It was Jane's favourite song. The very same song they danced at the prom party and at their fifteenth anniversary.

She placed both hands on the curve of his neck and he put his on her waist.

_Oh morning come bursting, the clouds. Amen._   
_Lift off this blindfold let me see again_   
_And bring back the water, let your ships roll in_   
_In my heart she left a hole_

"Not so difficult, is it?" Jane joked.

_The tightrope that I'm walking just sways and ties_   
_The devil as he's talking with those angel's eyes_   
_And I just want to be there when the lightning strikes_   
_And the saints go marching in_

"It's not fair," Sherlock whispered and more tears rolled down his face.

_Through chaos as it swirls_   
_It's us against the world_

_Like a river to a raindrop I lost a friend_   
_My drunken hazard Daniel in a lion's Den_   
_And tonight I know it all has to begin again_   
_So whatever you do, don't let go_

_And if we could float away_   
_Fly up to the surface and just start again_   
_And lift off before trouble, just erodes in the rain_   
_Just erodes in the rain, just erodes and see roses in the rain._

And despite all the things that had once happened between them, they were in peace.

_Through chaos as it swirls  
It's just us against the world_   
_Through chaos as it swirls_   
_It's us against the world._

"It's not fair," he repeated.

Jane smiled at him lovingly and kissed his lips. "Sherlock, love -"

"You're being selfish."

She wasn't really.

"Am I being selfish, Sherlock?" Jane whispered with tears in her eyes. "I'm giving up because I don't want you, our children and our grandchildren to see me like that. I refuse to live only to undergo chemotherapy... to undergo something I know my body won't be able to take."

"But you can't leave me!"

"I have to, Sherlock. Do you really think I want to go? I would stay because I still have to see Eleanor taking her own cases, having her own family. I want to be here when Benedict baby's born. I want to see Sophia in more films, winning more awards and having that baby you said she will have soon. I want to see Lock, Felipe and Catalina more. I want to see Hamish... I want to see Hamish as the great doctor I never was. I don't want to die. I want to stay, but I'm just too tired and I need to rest."

"You're too young."

Jane was merely fifty-six and she was dying.

"I'm tired, Sherlock," Jane smiled bitterly and squeezed his hand. "I'm too tired. Please, Sherlock, let me go."

"You said there was something you needed to tell me."

When Jane said she wanted to spend her last days in the country, she told Sherlock there was something she needed to tell him. That something was a secret she kept for years and years and never dared to say. And if she was dying tonight, she wanted to die without that secret in her heart.

No more.

"I'm sorry. That's what I needed to tell you. That I'm sorry for not helping you when you needed me... when you needed me to leave drugs behind."

"What?"

"Mycroft told me it was vital for you and the treatment... that you _needed_ to see me and Hamish," Jane explained. "I knew you were sorry... and that you needed me and our son... but I was selfish and I said no," she broke down. "I denied you the opportunity to see our baby. And I denied Hamish his opportunity to meet his daddy."

"Jane..."

"I wrote that letter and I never sent it. I want you to read it." Jane held Sherlock's hand. "Promise me you'll read it."

He shook his head. "It's not logical... it's not logical. I can't outlive you. Not after all the things I've done to you."

"Hush."

"I hurt you, Jane. I hit you," Sherlock cried. "I almost killed you and Hamish... I can't outlive you."

"Sherlock -"

"For God's sake, I did drugs, I smoke and I'm fine and you've always taken care of your health and you're dying of cancer."

Jane smiled and squeezed his hand. "It's all right, Sherlock."

"How can you forgive me?" Sherlock asked between tears. "Hamish will never have a normal life and he forgave me. You're dying because of your damaged uterus and your heart and you forgive me. I don't understand."

"Sherlock, I think you still don't understand how much we love you. You're Hamish's father and he loves you. Don't you understand that?"

"He almost died because of me."

"So did I and I love you. I've known you since I was... sixteen and almost forty years later my heart still beats fast because of you," Jane smiled weakly. "You gave me six children and three grandchildren and more are coming soon. You gave me a reason to fight for, Sherlock. I'm the one who should be grateful to life."

"Why?"

"You."

"Me?"

"You silly old man," Jane smiled. "In a few days you'll come back to London and you'll see the faces of our five children. I want you to look into their eyes. You'll find nothing else but love. A small part of us is in each of them. In Hamish you'll find your strength. In Lock's you'll find your wisdom. In Sophie's you'll find your tenderness. In Benedict you'll find your bluntness. In David-" She stopped when she remembered David was dead. "In David you'd have found your lovingness. And in Eleanor's you'll find your hope."

"And you?"

"That you'll have to find it yourself. I'll live through them. So don't say I'll leave you alone because we have five children, Sherlock. We did all of them... all of them are part of us."

"But I want you."

"You silly man, it's late. Come on, let's go to bed."

Once in their room, Jane brushed her hair and joined her husband in their bed. He opened his arms for her and they just stayed there, in each other's arms, in silence.

It is said that we all know when we are about to die. It is also said that we can see all our life in just mere seconds.

Jane knew she was going to die.

And then, she felt Sherlock's hand on her belly and his lips on hers. "It's my fault. I always insisted on us having children and I never took your health into account."

The doctors had told Jane that too many pregnancies, one baby lost and the complications that she suffered when Hamish was born had all been important factors that deteriorated her health and now she was suffering the consequences.

"Get married again." Jane said. "What about Molly? She's divorced. Still has that job at Bart's. She could get you body parts for you."

Sherlock looked into her eyes. "What?"

"You're fifty-seven, Sherlock. You're far too young. Get married again."

"I won't marry again."

"Why not?"

"Are you seriously asking?"

Jane looked at him clueless.

"I love you."

"Sherlock, I'm a mere chapter in your life," she smiled at him softly. "And there will be many more for Sherlock Holmes."

"Our daughters will kill me."

Jane laughed. "Yeah, I think you're right. But think about it. Molly's pretty. And she's always been in love with you."

"I won't marry again."

"It'd be fair. I almost married another man."

"But you thought I was dead."

"Isn't it the same thing?"

Sherlock said nothing.

"Are you up for a second round?"

He looked at her. "God, I'm not twenty something any more."

"I was joking. Good night, Sherlock."

Jane kissed him softly, as if it were their first kiss. She knew it was their last. And for some reason she wanted it to be like the first.

Soft.

"Good night."

"Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

Jane looked at him one last time. "I love you, Sherlock Holmes."

And very deep inside Sherlock knew Jane was dying. "I love you, Jane Watson. I'll always love you."

When she closed her eyes, she saw her whole life in mere seconds. Jane saw herself playing with her sister Harry when they were little, then she remembered her father, Captain John Watson explaining her why he and her mother were divorcing. Jane saw herself limping, using a walking stick. She saw the moment she met Sherlock, their moments together, the night she told him she was pregnant, their wedding, their first time together, all their children's as babies, then growing up. She remembered Sherlock's dying and then coming back. Jane saw her children having their own children and finally all those moments she and Sherlock had loved each other.

Jane Watson Holmes took a deep breath and inhaled Sherlock's soft scent. She was in her husband's arms when she died.

And that's how she wanted to die, in the arms of the man she loved.

In Sherlock Holmes' arms.

**The end.**


	24. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Apologies for my mistakes. Thanks for reading!

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock was sitting on the grass, his grey eyes on the sky. He had just woken up when he threw an arm to the other side of the bed and found it empty. He panicked, he had to admit that, but Sherlock soon realised his wife was gone. Actually, she had been away for almost twenty years and he still missed her. He still felt the pain of Jane's absence as if it was the first day without her.

He smiled and gestured his daughter to sit next to him. "Look up."

"Hmm?" Eleanor's eyes were on her father. He was wearing his blue dressing gown, he was barefoot and she could tell the experiment he was working on last night didn't work by the stains on the back of his hands. His hair, which Eleanor used to remember as dark, was now all white. Her father still had those defined and ridiculous curls he liked to comb and put some product on too.

"The sky. It's been ages since I last looked at it." Sherlock pointed at the sunrise before them. It was a mixture between orange, blue and pink. It was perfect, almost like a painting. "It was just like this the day your mother died," he said, his eyes on the orange, yellowish sky. "I remember the sky was just like this when I found her here, sitting alone on the grass..."

Sherlock decided to spend the summer holidays at the country house far from London. He plus Eleanor and her child left immediately after they were told Sherlock could leave hospital and Hamish and other doctor's orders were to take the detective to the country because he needed good air and not London any more.

The whole country house was full of people again. Full of noise, children running around, children crying, bottles, nappies and lullabies. All his children, his grandchildren and his great-grandchildren were there, with him.

Twenty years after Jane had died.

Soon after Jane died Sherlock confirmed his deductions and months later Sophia gave birth to another healthy baby boy she and her husband decided to name Thomas. Benedict had a boy he named David after his dead brother and some years later more children came to the world and joined the family.

Hamish, almost fifteen years after becoming a father for the first time, had a baby girl he decided to name Jane after his mother. It is said grandparents never have preferences, that they never prefer one grandchildren over the others but Sherlock loved his little granddaughter Jane as if she were his only grandchild. Jane was a very lovely girl who liked to spend her summers at grandpa Sherlock's because he could play the violin and he made good experiments too. Every single year since Jane was five she spent all her summers at Baker Street, in London, with her favourite grandfather who always told her stories about his cases, about granny Jane who was in heaven and about her daddy Hamish when he was little like her.

Contrary to popular and most of all his siblings' belief Benedict only had three children, three boys who were all as rebel as their father. Sherlock could never really understand why they all always misbehaved, had bad manners, threw tantrums all the time and swore like sailors. If it was genetic, they had inherited it from their father Benedict, but Sherlock always asked himself where his son had taken those manners from.

"What is it, dad?" Eleanor said, sitting next to her father. "The kids didn't let you sleep?"

Sherlock chuckled. "It was... what's his name? Benedict's son, the eldest... the one with glasses."

"Peter."

"Yes. That one. He was phoning his girlfriend judging by the sounds coming from his room. Phone-sex does still exist?"

Eleanor laughed. "You can't imagine all the things that exist right now."

Sherlock smiled and got to her feet. He offered his daughter his hand and both walked side by side around the wide garden of the country house. Eleanor and her father hooked their arms and they walked around remembering their previous visits, the endless summers with her siblings, with her nephews and nieces, her first summer with her own son Sherrinford, the time Sherlock taught his grandchildren to ride a bicycle.

Eleanor looked at the tree she remembered her mother said was special. Her father had always said he was cutting it down but when her mother died his father was the one taking care of it. As far as Eleanor and all her siblings knew that tree had been very important to her mother.

"Hamish and Lock were talking about cutting this tree down," Eleanor commented, looking at the flowers on the grass which had fallen down from the tree during the night. "It takes the gardener a good amount of time every time he comes."

"Don't," Sherlock said, a hand on the trunk. "If he can't manage, fire him and hire another."

Eleanor frowned. "But dad -"

"Your mother planted this tree more than fifty years ago when she lost a baby."

No more words were spoken and they continued walking around for long minutes when Sherlock held his daughter's hand. His hand was cold, calloused, big in comparison to hers. Eleanor smiled bitterly because her father's hand was the hand of a man who had fought, seen and lived far too much.

"Here is where I spent the happiest moments of my life. With my parents, my brother, you, your siblings, your mother. I love this place." Eleanor squeezed his hand softly. Her father's touch reminded her of the days when she was just a little girl and her father took her hand, always. "Here's where we conceived you."

"Dad, really... I don't want to know in which position you and mum conceived me."

"Actually -"

" _Dad._ "

Sherlock smiled at her. "Tell me about your latest case."

"The one about the diamond?" Eleanor helped his father with the empty jars he wanted to fill in with honey. "Absolutely boring. A total waste of my time. Do you know how's Jane going to call it?  _'The case of the missing diamond.'_ "

"She's getting good at it."

"She's twelve, dad."

Sherlock tasted a bit of his own honey. "She'll be a good writer. I read her blog. Got thousands of visits apparently."

"Hmm. I'll have to talk with Hamish about it."

"Why?"

"I don't want her to get... exposed. She's too little."

Sherlock chuckled. "She'll be fine."

"If Martin was here he'd think the same."

"If he was here he'd be very proud of you," Sherlock said, his tired eyes on his daughter. "and he'd be very proud of his niece too."

Despite since a teenager Eleanor said she would never try to find love she actually did when she was thirty. DI Martin Thompson was the most idiot DI of the Scotland Yard, according to Eleanor, but he was also the man she had loved with all her heart. They fell in love at first sight, almost immediately when she was called to help in a case of a serial killer who apparently liked to steal his victim's organs to later sell them.

Eleanor later told her father that after solving the case they went out, had dinner, went to his place, shagged like animals and then they never left each other's side.

They didn't got married but had a son they named  _Sherrinford_ after Sherlock's grandfather, a man whose deductive skills were superior to anyone else within the family. Eleanor wanted to name her baby  _Sherlock_  like her father, but the retired detective begged her not to because there were already too many Sherlocks in the family.

Shortly after their son was born DI Martin Thompson was killed in action. And neither Mycroft nor Sherlock needed to move a finger after seeing Eleanor crying because she took vengeance on the killers herself.

And since Martin's death Eleanor was living with her father and with his help she was raising her son Sherrinford who was now two years old.

But she had to admit she would never find another man like Martin again.

"I know what it's like," Sherlock said, his eyes focused on the honey and the jars. "But you'll find love again. I know you will."

"Says the man who refused to marry again."

"And whom you think I should have married to?"

Eleanor shrugged. "I don't know. Aunt Molly? You went on a date together, remember? What happened?"

"She said she knew she would be replacing your mother. She ate her dessert and left."

"Pity. Mum used to said aunt Molly was in love you when you were in school."

"I could have never married again, Eleanor," Sherlock said bitterly, trying very hard not to waste any drop of his honey. "I loved your mother far too much to rebuild my life with another woman. I still love her."

Eleanor bent her head. "Mum almost married another man when she thought you were dead."

"That was different. She was young, had a whole life ahead and Hamish and Lock were little. They needed a father. You're young, Eleanor. And Sherrinford will need a father too."

"I still love Martin," Eleanor confessed. "You're like a father to my son."

Sherlock chuckled. "I'm not sure how many years I still have."

Eleanor smiled. "Silly dad. Let's take a jar for breakfast. Why don't you prepare those pancakes we all love so much?"

"You're around twenty people."

"I can always help you."

During breakfast Sherlock tried very hard not to forget all his grandchildren and great-grandchildren's names. Thank God they all had normal, boring and common names. He smiled when he heard his son Lock speaking to his husband in Spanish and getting a reply in English. More than twenty years together and they still couldn't talk to each other using one language.

"God, I hate them when they do that," Catalina commented as he poured more tea into her grandfather's cup. "You should hear them when they fight. English, Spanish, a mix of the two."

"Cathy, coffee, black two sugars, please?"

Catalina smiled. "No."

" _Catalina._ "

"Dad, aunt Eleanor, aunt Sophie, uncle Hamish, uncle Benedict and I think even little Sherrinford told me you can't drink coffee."

Sherlock bit his lip. "My heart is already beyond repair, Cathy."

"Don't be silly. Drink your tea."

Too many cigarettes, too much cocaine and another drugs and Hamish and many other doctors told him his heart was weak. Sherlock considered himself fortunate to be seventy-seven and still being able to walk without having to use a walking stick like his father and read without having to wear glasses.

However, the only thing the detective needed help with was his memory.

Because day after day he was forgetting things.

It started with trivial, normal things such as what day it was, what time it was, who was the king, who was the PM. Then, he started forgetting things such as his grandchildren's names, which everyone considered was normal given the fact they were a lot.

But then he started forgetting his own children's names, their childhoods, the time Lock stopped drinking his milk using a bottle, the time Hamish got his degree and became a doctor, when Sophia won her first important award as an actress, when Benedict decided to leave the army, when his own son David died and the time his daughter Eleanor told him she wanted to be a detective like him.

One of the most saddest things was forgetting his son had died almost thirty years ago.

_"Tell David to come home one of these days."_

_Benedict looked at his siblings and then at his father. "You're joking, right?"_

_Sherlock shrugged. "He hasn't come for his birthday. What is he doing anyway?"_

_"Dad," Sophie said, taking his hand. "David's dead. He died... he died twenty-five years ago, remember?"_

No he didn't. He had to go and check. Sherlock had to know why there were six different children in all those pictures around the flat but there were always five present. He needed to know why there were pictures of two little boys, twins, dressed in matching clothes, sharing one same smile and there was just one.

It hurt him every time he was told David had died.

When he visited his grave he looked at the dates engraved on the stone. His son was twenty five when he died, just a young man. If it hadn't been for the videos he still had, he wouldn't know what his son had been like. Sherlock looked at old pictures of himself holding two little babies in his arms. One was very little but the other was big. He was told that one was Benedict, his son who was in the secret service and everyone called  _'double-O-seven'._

"Papa Sherlock?"

"Hmm?"

Sherlock looked down at the little girl standing next to his chair. She had special features, slight tanned skin and accent. Foreign accent. She was Catalina's child, therefore, Lock's grandchildren.

Name? "Yes... whatever your name is?"

"I'm Julia."

"Yes, Julia?"

"Can I go and play outside? I already drank my milk and ate your pancakes."

Sherlock smiled. "Yes, you shall go." Then he turned to his granddaughter. "She speaks good English."

"I married an English man, remember?"

No. "Yes."

"Do you remember that?" Hamish laughed. "For god's sake. You were what, six?"

Sherlock looked at his daughter Sophia smiling. "Eight," Sophia corrected. "I was so silly. Do you remember the time I asked you to marry me, dad?"

The detective merely smiled.

It was a clue.

He didn't remember.

Sophia took his hand. "I was eight when I asked you to marry me because I wanted to make you happy."

"You make me very happy. Even when you do appear naked in films and magazines."

She rolled her eyes. "That was ages ago, dad. Besides, I'm not that young to be doing nude scenes any more."

"Oh God, remember that one we went to see with mum and David?" Benedict asked his father. "You were excited because there was a murder scene but then she shagged a guy and walked around completely naked for five whole minutes."

"Ben, stop it!"

Sherlock smiled as he watched his children laughing and talking about old things. "Was it that bad?" he asked.

"Yes! She shagged a guy, dad. And we had to watch her arse and breasts. Who on Earth wants to see their sister's arse and breasts?"

Andrew, Sophia's husband laughed. "I do!"

"But she's your wife."

Later they all had lunch outside. Most of Sherlock's great-grandchildren wanted to eat sitting on his lap and each had their turn. Sitting next to him was Jane, his granddaughter, Hamish's daughter, who was a mere twelve-year-old girl who still liked spending her summers at Baker Street with him and who still didn't know what she wanted to be in life.

"I could be a doctor. You know, like dad."

Sherlock smiled. "You should be whatever you want to be. Not what your parents want you to."

"That's the problem. They say I can be whatever I want," Jane said. "But if I choose to be a prostitute they won't let me."

"I really hope you don't become a prostitute."

"I could be a dominatrix," Jane said. "I was told I'm pretty. I could get paid lots of money. What do you think, grandpa?"

Sherlock frowned. "You read Jane's old blog?"

"Yes. Granny's blog was amazing!"

"You're too young to know what a dominatrix is."

Jane smiled. "I was joking! I like writing... you know, aunt Eleanor lets me write about her cases and she thinks my blog is cool."

"Then be a writer."

Once the lunch was finished Sherlock sat outside the house surrounded by all his children and it reminded him of previous father's days when all of them showed up at Baker Street carrying lots of presents for him, scarf, coats, gloves, shoes, lab equipment would always be given to him. And they spent the whole day with him. Sherlock often wondered if they did it because they wanted to or merely because he was alone.

"Already tired, old man?" Benedict joked.

Sophia sat next to her father and rested her head on his shoulder. "What's wrong, daddy?"

"Nothing, princess."

"Am I still being your princess?"

"Always."

"Even when I'm fifty?"

Sherlock smiled. "Of course. You'll always be my princess."

"What is it, dad?" Hamish asked, sitting across his father.

Sherlock sniffed and a tear rolled down his face. "She was expecting you when we got married and came here for the first time," the detective said, his eyes on his son Lock. "I was worried when you didn't kick."

Lock smiled. "What else do you remember, old man?"

"Your tantrums," Sherlock said, his eyes now on Benedict. "My God, you were a nightmare as a child."

Benedict laughed his head off. "Go on."

"Your first play," this was addressed to Sophia. "You were wonderful on it. You were Juliet."

Sophia chuckled. "Come on, daddy. You can do it."

Sherlock closed his eyes and then opened them to look into Hamish's. "I remember the first day I saw you. When we met you ran to my arms... as if I had always been your father."

"Because you have always been my father, dad," Hamish said softly, a tear rolling down his face. "I understand you're not my biological father but blood is not important, is it? I don't look like you, not even like mum any more but... who cares? If I have to choose a father I'll choose you again."

Sherlock cupped his son's cheek. It was true he didn't look like him or like Jane but the man who was his real father, Sam Sawyer. But still, more than sixty years later, he still needed to ask for forgiveness.

"I'm sorry, son."

"Don't start, dad," Hamish said tiredly. "It's all fine."

"Look at your ear," Sherlock said, looking straight to the small hearing aid his son had to use because now he was completely deaf. "Your heart is also weak because of me. Your mother wouldn't have died if it hadn't been for me and all the things I did to her."

"Now, now," Eleanor said, joining all her siblings and her father. "Stop talking silly things, dad."

"Don't talk to me as if I were a child because I am not. I'm a seventy-seven year old man who's about to die and the only thing I want is to spend time with you because I miss holding all of you in my arms," Sherlock said, placing an arm around Sophia who was sitting to his left and another man around Eleanor who was sitting to his right. "I can't believe I once held all of you in my arms... and most of you are holding your own grandchildren now... I wish your mother and your brother David were here. I wish you were all little to tell you lullabies and scare monsters away."

For a long moment none said a word. Both women Eleanor and Sophia remained in their position, under their father's Sherlock's arms while Lock, Benedict and Hamish sat across their father and watched the scene before them in silence.

"Daddy, why don't you tell us that story... the one about the hounds." Sophia suggested.

Sherlock chuckled. "One morning a man arrived at Baker Street asking for my services. Your mother prepared tea while he showed me a... what was it?"

"A video." Hamish helped him.

"Ah, yes. He said a gigantic hound had killed his father. Lock deduced the man had a very disappointing breakfast in the train because of the ketchup stains, right?"

Lock nodded. "Yes."

"I remember now," Sophia smiled. "You left us with uncle Mycroft and went to Baskerville with mum."

"I regretted that. When I came back Hamish and Lock had cavities. I wonder how Mycroft managed to raise his own child."

"Tim's been PM twice," Hamish commented.

Benedict nodded. "And he's in campaign. I bet's he's gonna win again."

"He's doing all the things Mycroft couldn't."

"We have to go back to London, daddy," Sophia said. "You sure you're gonna be OK here?"

Sherlock smiled bitterly, wishing they could stay a bit longer. "Yes. Jane will take good care of me. She always reminds me I have to take my pills."

The detective watched all his children and their own children packing their things, saying goodbye and finally getting into cars and leaving. A long summer was coming and he smiled because he wasn't alone this time. This time, as the previous seven summers, his granddaughter Jane was staying with him.

Sherlock had already planned experiments, stories to tell, beehives to look after and so on.

"What's wrong, grandpa?"

"I miss Jane."

"What was granny Jane like, grandpa?" Jane asked, somehow afraid of asking. "I always ask dad but he doesn't like to talk about it."

Sherlock smiled. "Jane was the love of my life. She was clever, unique... the bravest woman I'd ever known."

"What is the first thing you remember about her?"

"Her voice," Sherlock said, closing his eyes. "her voice was soft. I... I remember her singing lullabies to our children. Six different lullabies."

Jane smiled. "Can you sing one?"

"We used to sing your father a lullaby when he was little and he couldn't fall asleep."

"Do you remember the lullaby, grandpa?"

"No."

Jane caressed his hand and led him back into the house which was now empty, almost silent. They sat in the living room together. Jane took one of the many photo albums off a box and opened it.

"Aunt Eleanor looks a lot like granny Jane."

Sherlock smiled and looked at the picture. It was a picture taken the day of their first wedding. Both were seventeen and eighteen respectively. Both were so young. And it took Sherlock a good amount of time to realise that photo was taken almost sixty years ago.

"You look like her too. Here," Sherlock pointed at a picture of Jane holding a three-year-old Hamish in her arms. "This is your father."

Jane smiled. "Look this one," she pointed at a picture where Sherlock was holding two toddlers in his arms. Both boys had mud covering their little hands. "Uncle Benny! And the other one must be uncle David."

"And this one," Sherlock's eyes were on a picture of Jane, Sophie and himself after her first play. "Sophia almost killed me when she thought I wasn't there."

"Look, uncle Lock!"

Sherlock looked at the picture of a seven-year-old Lock and himself, both playing the violin.

"Your aunt Eleanor," Sherlock said, looking at the picture of Jane holding a little baby, Eleanor.

He realised each of their children had inherited something from both. Hamish was a doctor like Jane, Lock liked bees and doing research like him, Sophia wasn't their biological child but she had certainly inherited his acting skills. Benedict and David had inherited his looks and Jane's bravery. Eleanor was the only one who was following his steps and she was a brilliant detective like him and a wonderful mother like Jane.

Jane was right after all. She said before dying that he would never be alone because they still had five children who were part of them, who had inherited something from them and who would always keep him safe, loved.

_Jane smiled. "You'll see the faces of our five children. I want you to look into their eyes. You'll find nothing else but love. A small part of us is in each of them. In Hamish you'll find your strength. In Lock's you'll find your wisdom. In Sophie's you'll find your tenderness. In Benedict you'll find your bluntness. In David-" She stopped when she remembered David was dead. "In David you'd have found your lovingness. And in Eleanor's you'll find your hope."_

_"And you?"_

_"That you'll have to find it yourself. I'll live through them. So don't say I'll leave you alone because we have five children, Sherlock. We did all of them... all of them are part of us."_

Lots of grandchildren came. Sometimes Sherlock wished Jane was alive to see their children having their own children and some of them will soon have their own children and make him a great-grandfather again.

Sherlock still considered life was unfair for taking Jane way from him because even thought she had died twenty years ago, he still missed like the first day when he woke up and realised the woman he was holding in his arms was dead. Jane died in his arms. And Sherlock could not forget the look in her face, her closed eyes he wished he could see their colour again, her cold hands, the taste of her lips when he kissed her one last time.

"Are you OK, grandpa?" Jane asked, a bit worried.

Sherlock smiled and a tear rolled down his face. "I remember the lullaby now."

"Can you sing? Please, please, please, pretty please?"

_Bye, baby Bunting,_

_Daddy's gone a-hunting,_

_Gone to get a rabbit skin_

_To wrap the baby Bunting in._

Sherlock opened his eyes and met his granddaughter's.

"It's beautiful, grandpa." She said with a smile which reminded Sherlock of Jane's.

Even when he knew Jane was no longer with him, physically speaking, he knew her spirit was till there with him every time he missed her and she was still wrapping her arms around him every time he felt sad and alone. Jane was with him every time he looked into his children's eyes and every time he closed his eyes at night and dreamt of her and their days together.

"Jane?"

"Yes, grandpa?"

"I love you."

The little girl kissed his cheek. "I love you too, grandpa."

**The end.**


End file.
